When the Lines Begin to Blur
by carefulpenance
Summary: The Dark wins the Second Wizarding War. Separated from Ron, Hermione is placed in the care of Bellatrix Lestrange, who does everything in her power to make her forget her past. How far will they go to find each other again?
1. Spoils of War

The world was beautiful today.

The sky was a cheerful azure, adorned with a few wispy clouds. The air was crisp, clean, refreshing. A light breeze fluttered every so often. The golden sun streamed down from the seraphic scene above. The place it touched on the Earth was not quite so heavenly.

Hundreds of people were gathered in a crumbling courtyard, split into two masses, standing on steps of shattered stone. They were a people at war. Or rather, they had been.

All was quiet now.

Leading the throng of menacing folk clad in black, a tall, thin, snakelike man stepped forward and began to speak.

Her head was spinning, the clever mind that had hardly ever failed her in the past working frantically to come up with a solution for this deplorable situation. She was racing through information, anything, anything at all, from potions textbooks, spellbooks, History of Magic classes…

But none of that would help now. Polyjuice potion would be of no use to her. They had taken her wand. And certainly nobody wanted to hear her regurgitate anything that Professor Binns had ever said.

She wondered where he was. She hadn't seen him among the ghosts during the battle. She hadn't heard anything about him at all, actually, while she'd been away for the past year. Had the Carrows done something to him? What could one possibly do to a ghost?

Nothing, she concluded, grateful for some semblance of closure to even the smallest of problems. Nothing could be done to harm a ghost. He had probably fallen asleep during the battle, and was now documenting the results in the most boring possible method in order to drone on about it for years to come.

_The Battle of Hogwarts,_ it would read. _May 1__st__, 1998: One of the most massive armies of Death Eaters in history attacked Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, under the direction of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…in search of Harry Potter…the Boy Who Lived…dead at the Dark Lord's hand…crushing defeat…school was left destroyed... students, teachers, families slaughtered…left at the mercy of—_

"And what," rang a high, cold voice, reaching through her thoughts and chilling her through to her very core, "do we have here?"

She blinked, remembered where she was. Flanked by Parvati and Luna. Luna, the only reason she'd noticed how beautiful the sky was, when she'd seen her friend gazing up at it serenely, oblivious to the surrounding rubble and bloodshed. The girls and boys had been separated. Ginny, shrieking and wailing and fighting until she reached Harry's corpse, had been killed while sobbing over his body.

It was a pity, He had said, that magical blood should be wasted over one only half as pure.

The separation, now she remembered; she had been dragged away from him, screaming his name, their hands being wrenched apart as he was hauled off by several male Death Eaters, chuckling darkly and launching crude insults at them, his red hair the last thing she saw amid the sea of black…

Ron.

The name brought daggers to her heart; Harry, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Ginny, she had already thought her heart destroyed, but the agony of not knowing where Ron was or what was happening to him tore her apart more than anything else.

They had only just begun. It couldn't be over. It was never supposed to end like this.

She turned to face him, the man—if he could even be called that—who had spoken to her. That incorrigible being who had caused it all, all the suffering, the pain, the loss, the villain whom they had come so close, so very, very close to destroying.

But close was not enough.

"Hermione Granger," he hissed, and a mirthless smile spread across his hideous face. "You certainly have played your part in this…sequence of events."

She stood straight and still. She would not back down. She would not even blink.

"Your achievements have been…impressive. Remarkable, even, considering your…ancestry," he commented, scrutinizing her with his red slits that she supposed still functioned as eyes. She had never been this close to him before. How had Harry managed to do it so many times?

Harry. Another twisting stab to her heart. No. She would be brave, like her best friend had been.

"You're a clever girl. I suppose you have a rough idea of what will happen to thieves of magic such as yourself…"

She bristled at the insult, and nearly opened her mouth to retort when, as if it were a direct response to Voldemort's words, a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the courtyard. She jumped, turned, searching for the source—please, please, don't let it be—

"JUSTIN!" a girl shrieked, and began to sob, and Hermione recognized the voice of Hannah Abbott—Justin Finch-Fletchley, it appeared, was the first Muggle-born to go.

She felt horribly ill at the idea of his fate, a boy with whom she'd always been friendly, who had done nothing, nothing at all to deserve this…but her overwhelming feeling was of relief. It had not been Ron. His blood was pure. Surely, even as a traitor in their eyes, he would be spared…

"Ah," said Voldemort, noticing her reaction to the scream. "You see, it has begun."

Was this it? Was she to die? Without seeing him at least one more time? She began to brace herself….however, there was an underlying tone to Voldemort's voice that made her suspect his mind was not quite made up.

"However," he continued, confirming her suspicions, "you have proven yourself, Hermione—may I take the liberty?—you have certainly exceeded the stigma normally expected of Mudbloods such as yourself." He paused, considering her for a moment. "Perhaps you could be useful."

Ordinarily, she would have declined scathingly and instantaneously. Join him? Betray Harry? Harry, her best friend, for whom she had given everything?

But if she refused, she knew they would kill her.

And she had to see him. Ron. At least once more.

But she had not been asked to choose. Not yet. She would not speak.

Voldemort called for someone, a name that broke Hermione's rigid stance of defiance and made her shiver, her eyes widened, lips parted to inhale sharply at the sight of this figure approaching her.

And it all came back, in flashes: the endless chasm of pain, the long fingers twisted in her hair, the knife at her throat, the deadly whispers in her ear. That night was the one time she had been certain they were going to die.

"I believe you two are reasonably well acquainted with each other?" Voldemort sneered.

Instinctively, Hermione clutched her left forearm, where the word was still etched, barely faded from the night it had been so brutally carved. Bellatrix Lestrange cackled.

During the hour reprieve Voldemort had given during the battle, Minerva McGonagall, aware of her previous torture, had attempted to heal it for her.

Her beloved professor had turned to her with tears in her eyes and told her there was really nothing she could do.

It was permanent. Hermione thought she'd always known it would be.

"What say you, Bellatrix?" Voldemort asked. "What should be done with her?"

Hermione forced herself to look her in the eyes, to stare into the cavernous black depths, dancing madly with victory—her tainted, undeserved victory—and lust for power.

Bellatrix licked her lips. "I have an idea, my Lord…"


	2. Futile Resistance

"Let me go!" he shouted, struggling against the two burly men restraining him. "Let _her_ go! Bring me back to her!"

A swift punch in the ribs silenced him temporarily, and he doubled over.

"You'd best stop makin' a scene, ginger," said one gruffly.

"Yeah, we wouldn' want nothin' to happen to that pretty little girlfriend of yours, would we?" leered the other. "Greyback wasn' kiddin', was he, Amycus? She is lovely."

Ron turned to look at the brutish man gripping his left arm. So this was Amycus Carrow, the bloke who had made his friends' lives a living hell for the past year. It was he who had beaten Neville, Seamus, Ginny—

_Ginny._ In his desperation to get back to Hermione, he had forgotten about the slaying of his sister. Overcome with anguish and guilt, he let out a roar and wrenched his right arm free, punching Amycus in the face.

The evil brute's nose broke, blood spattering everywhere as he swore, clutching his bloodied face. The other Death Eater grabbed Ron by the hair, punched him in the ribs again, again, until he was certain all of them must be broken—

Ron realized that others had joined the brawl; more of Voldemort's cronies had come to help, but there was Neville, Dean, Seamus, Ernie MacMillian, and—he'll be damned, even that prat Zacharias Smith, beating the hell out of the Death Eaters.

But it wasn't enough, he realized, as Seamus was thrown to the floor and kicked roughly in the stomach. Smith was tough, but he swore as a spell hit him square in the shoulder, shattering most of his arm. One of the Death Eaters sent a Killing Curse at Dean, who missed it by a hairsbreadth—Dean, what the hell was he doing; he was Muggle-born, they wouldn't hesitate—

Dean lunged forward, punched the bastard in the throat, and snapped his wand in half. Ron was about to grin when Amycus punched him in the mouth. He felt his teeth break.


	3. A Nightmare Revisited

The room was not a dungeon, as she had expected. It was well furnished, sumptuously decorated. The bed was large and inviting, with silken sheets and lush pillows. She chose instead to sit in an armchair that would have been cozy under different circumstances. Expensive (and probably very Dark) artifacts rested on top of ornately carved dressers and tables.

There were no books, no portraits. No windows.

There was a large mirror in which Hermione could see herself. Her face was bloodstained, her hair, understandably, untidier than usual. Dim circles, which had lingered under her eyes for months, had only darkened with the effort of battle.

She didn't know the girl staring back at her.

The door opened, and her head whipped round as Bellatrix entered, grinning. With a wave of her wand, she shut and sealed the door behind her, then stalked across the room towards Hermione.

Relax. Relax, she told herself. She was sat up straight in the chair and had no intention of slouching down, not even in the presence of her walking boggart.

Bellatrix's dark, willowy form towered over her now, exuding power much like her Lord. Beyond reputation, beyond fearsome appearance, it was the impalpable sense of power that struck most fear into the heart.

"Hello, love," she said, smiling wickedly. "Remember me?"

Hermione did not blink. Bellatrix's eyes darted to her forearm, and again Hermione's reflex kicked in, and she covered it. Again that insane cackle rang through her ears. Damn, damn, _damn_.

"I see you _do_ remember, little Mudblood," she sneered, circling the chair in a most predatory manner. "That's good…I do loathe introductions…"

She took pauses in her speech in the same deliberate manner as her master, each designed to heighten fear in a victim. Hermione was not immune to this: her heartbeat and breathing quickened. She hoped Bellatrix could not hear this.

"You've been awfully quiet, dear," came the witch's voice from behind her, in a pouting, almost concerned tone. "Cat got your tongue?"

Hermione remained silent, partially out of fear and partially because she did not know what to say.

Suddenly, Bellatrix grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her backward, and Hermione could not stop the startled, terrified cry that was ripped from her throat. It was just like that night, it was exactly the same; this was how it began; it was meant to end with her death; Dobby was dead at this woman's hand and Hermione was sure no savior would come this time…

Bellatrix leant in beside her and growled, "It would be in your best interest to speak when spoken to, Mudblood."

"What do you expect me to say," answered Hermione through gritted teeth.

Bellatrix sighed and released her, clicking her tongue. "You were much more fun back at my sister's manor a few weeks ago, begging and screaming and crying…" she cocked her head to one side, studying Hermione. "I suppose I'll just have to recreate it."

She pointed her wand. "_Crucio._"

Hermione bit her lip against the pain; it coursed through her, flooding through her bones, her mind, her soul; she shook violently until she could no longer hold back the scream, and Bellatrix only increased the strength of the spell to draw the sound out for as long as possible.

When it stopped, she was covered in a film of perspiration, and she still trembled. Her knuckles had turned white from gripping the chair, in which she was still sitting upright.

"Now that's more like it!" Bellatrix exclaimed cheerfully. "Shall we give it another go?"

Hermione looked up at her, not knowing what her brown eyes were trying to convey to the woman. What could she do? What could she say to make it stop without begging?

She would not beg. Not again.

Bellatrix shrugged at her lack of a response. "_Crucio!_"

It was more forceful this time, and Hermione went rigid, the spasms worse than before. She was not as successful at keeping quiet, and instantly began to scream as the spell submerged her in nothing but pain, so much pain, and all she could think about was the pain and that night and the pain from that night—

It stopped again, and she collapsed back into the chair, panting and shaking. Unbeckoned tears were drying on her face. Bellatrix stepped forward, and Hermione drew her knees up, curling into the chair and cowering away from her. She hated herself more than ever.

"Are you ready to talk now?" Bellatrix asked sweetly.

Hermione was at a loss for words; still in shock from the Cruciatus curse, she doubted she could have even formed any through her parted, trembling lips.

"S'pose not," Bellatrix said. "Pity… you don't leave me much of a choice, precious." She shook her head disappointedly, then raised her wand—

Reflex reared its head a third time, and Hermione kicked out at the dark witch, making her stumble backwards and hiss in pain—but she did not fall, did not drop her wand; to make a run for it now would be suicide—

Enraged, Bellatrix seized her by the ankle and dragged her viciously to the floor. "You _filthy Mudblood!_ How _dare_ you? You insolent little girl!" she shouted, drawing a horribly familiar object from her robes.

The dagger.

"No!" Hermione screeched, the first word she'd uttered in Bellatrix's presence. She could not do it; she couldn't survive this again; she would do anything… "Please, _please…_"

"Too late, Mudblood!" Bellatrix said in a sing-song voice. She straddled the girl, twirling the knife in her fingers, and Hermione began to cry in earnest because it really was like that night, this was it, she was reliving her worst nightmare, she was going to die—

Bellatrix licked her lips, considering where to begin doodling. She could go over her favorite slur on the girl's arm again, but that seemed so unoriginal. Should she flip her over and use her back as a canvas instead? It was always fun when a victim couldn't see what was happening to them. She could also do something nasty to her mouth, but she would hate to mar such a pretty face.

She wished the girl would stop crying. It was very distracting.

An idea struck her like the lightning bolt on the dead Potter boy's foolish head.

"I know," she mused aloud, reaching forward with the knife. The girl screamed, thinking she would cut her throat—such silly assumptions, did she really have that little respect for her creativity? Bellatrix laughed as she snipped the buttons off her coat with the blade, one by one. She slowly unzipped the jumper and tore her blouse open. The girl yelped and began to struggle beneath her, but Bellatrix pinned her down angrily.

"Wh-what are you _doing—" _Hermione wailed, cold and revolted and confused—

"Hmm…" Bellatrix ran a cold finger down the side of the girl's neck, and she shivered. Her hand slid down the girl's stomach and pressed against her hip—Hermione winced; it was bruised from falling against stone steps at Hogwarts with Ron…_Ron…_ she began to cry even harder, and wondered what Bellatrix was doing, why she was touching her; she seemed to be considering every inch of her in deep thought, until she finally realized—she was deciding where to begin cutting her.

Bellatrix was debating between the hip and the clavicle. The hip was already bruised, though, and the girl's pretty little neck could use some color. Making her decision, she leant in and began to carve.

Hermione screamed, the loudest one yet, as Bellatrix's knife cut through her skin; she had not gone so deeply this time, but it was happening again, Bellatrix was back, her long black curls obscuring everything else from view as she chuckled at her screams and held her head back with one long-fingered hand, her nails digging into her scalp, and she began to speak—

"What's this little mark I've been seeing, hmmm? You've drawn it all over that children's book of yours…it was carved into a wall at your school… that idiot Lovegood wore it round his neck…and now, so do you!" she finished gleefully, sitting up to admire her work.

Hermione was sobbing, hair plastered to her face; the cutting had stopped but the stinging pain still lingered. Bellatrix had marked her a second time.

"Oh, hush," Bellatrix snapped. "It's pretty."

When Hermione's tears didn't cease, Bellatrix gave an irritated sigh and hoisted the girl up by her arm, pulling her over to the mirror. The girl gave no sign that she'd even realized she had moved.

Bellatrix had had enough. She slapped the girl sharply across the face, and finally, she fell into shocked silence, though tears continued to stream down her face and drip across her parted lips.

She turned the girl to the mirror, bent her head back, and drew her finger across the wound, eliciting a shaky gasp from the younger witch. "See?" Bella whispered into her ear.

Hermione looked. The sign of the Deathly Hallows was carved near her collarbone, just a few inches above her heart. She nearly laughed at the irony.

"I know," Bellatrix murmured. "I know what it is." She moved her hand to the back of Hermione's neck, brushed away the hair sticking to her damp forehead.

Hermione shuddered at her almost comforting touch. The dark witch continued to speak. "I'm familiar with that tale, oh yes…foolish child's story; my mother used to tell it to us at bedtime…" she moved a finger back to the symbol.

"The cloak of invisibility…" she breathed, tracing a nail through the triangular inscription. Hermione bit back a whimper.

"The resurrection stone…" she circled the center.

"The Elder wand." She drew her nail sharply through the final line, and Hermione gasped in pain.

"You see, Mudblood, the Dark Lord is now in possession of all three," Bellatrix declared, her voice teeming with utter devotion and pride. "He is the sole Master of Death."

Hermione's breath came shakily and heavily. She had not believed the tale. Harry had been right. They had both paid dearly anyway.

"You can have a place among us, little one," Bella lisped. "The Dark Lord has recognized your talent…an honor beyond a mudblood's wildest dreams. Death is not the only option you have to consider."

Hermione's lower lip trembled.

"Wh-what will h-happen to me?" she managed, despising how pathetic she sounded.

Bellatrix smiled. "Well, you'll stay here with me, of course," and Hermione instantly tensed in horror at the thought of staying with this woman for an indefinite period of time. "If you're good," she continued. "Life will be very pleasant for you. And if not… well, you're a clever girl, aren't you; I think you can figure it out."

This surprised Hermione. She had not expected any other choice but an inevitably painful death. The opportunity to continue life in a possibly painless world—even with Bellatrix as her warden—seemed too good to pass up.

But it would be a betrayal. A lie. A disgrace to her fallen best friend, to all those who had died mere hours ago.

She jutted out her chin in defiance, met Bellatrix's gaze in the mirror, and hoarsely replied, "Never."

The flicker of madness reappeared in the woman's eyes. Her hand clenched around Hermione's neck, long black nails digging into her flesh. She threw her away, onto the floor.

"Fine," she hissed, a trail of some fiery substance issuing from her wand, burning a hole in the carpet. "You want to do this the hard way? We'll do it the hard way."

Bellatrix cast her most powerful Cruciatus yet. The girl began to scream and writhe on the ground.

She had not expected her to be this difficult to break.

Difficult. Not impossible.


	4. Three Years Later

Lestrange Manor was quiet tonight. The halls were devoid of Rodolphus's dark laughter or Bellatrix's unhinged cackling that often followed murder. There had been no killings for the past few nights, but the pattern was likely to resume tomorrow.

Bellatrix sat in the dimly lit kitchen, tracing a long finger around the rim of her mead glass, a small smirk on her face as she recalled the most recent bout of bloodshed: an interrogation at Azkaban, with her husband and Lord, of prisoners suspected of smuggling resistance strategies to the outside world. The torture, though quite fun, had yielded few results, and she would return the following night to complete what she had begun.

She thought of what one prisoner had shouted at her, during the lull between Cruciati. The Indian girl had been so blatantly defiant, such passionate hatred sprung from her eyes, that Bella had been tempted to kill her right there, especially after what she'd said.

"You haven't won," she'd cried. "We're still here, and thousands more, and we're still loyal to them, all of them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione; no matter what you've done to them—we're still here!"

The memory alone made Bellatrix snarl. The fact that some continued to use the dead Potter boy as a symbol of hope made her laugh, and she couldn't care less about the ginger, but when someone brought the girl into it—that's when she became angry.

Because the girl should no longer be a paragon for them. Bellatrix had spent the last three years devoting much of her precious time and energy to the girl; breaking her down and building her back up again, reforming her beyond recognition. Or at least, she'd been trying to. Some days were more successful than others.

She had stopped hurting the girl ages ago. Torture had become unnecessary and ineffective. The girl had stopped responding to it beyond tremors and tears, and Bellatrix grew bored. Besides, she needed her to be coherent for the future.

The girl was bright, she had always heard, but never suspected the actual extent of her knowledge, the cleverness of her young mind. She picked things up quickly; on occasion, Bellatrix would read to her, teach her, and it was through doing this that she had gained the girl's trust. It also illuminated just how brilliant she really was.

It was a pity about her blood. She would have made a remarkable Death Eater. Still, she was a protégé of sorts, though with her impurity, she could never really hope to amount to anything more than a servant.

And that's what she had been for Bellatrix over the last three years, one of several Mudblood servants she had obtained after the war. She was her favorite, though, and Bella made sure she was treated better than the others. Rodolphus became a bit too friendly with some of the other girls on occasion, but Bellatrix had threatened him at wandpoint to ensure that he never laid a finger on this one. The other sluts could do as they pleased; they were bound to grow bored, but nothing was going to happen to this girl. She belonged to Bellatrix, and Bella would make sure that she was kept safe—from ignorance, from her lecherous husband, and most importantly, from the dangerous truths that lurked outside the manor walls.

As far as Hermione knew, all resistance had been obliterated years ago. Bellatrix firmly intended to keep it that way.


	5. Sombre Recollection

Hermione settled in an armchair, clutching a dusty, leather-bound tome. She loved nothing more than the experience of opening a book, the soft crack of the spine, the feeling of delicate pages beneath her fingers, the rush of excitement that preceded learning.

She was grateful that Bellatrix—Mistress Bellatrix, as she was meant to call her now (she rarely addressed her directly to avoid saying this)—permitted her to come here, to the extensive Lestrange library, and read whenever she liked. Being able to read and learn had made the past few years easier to cope with.

It hadn't been all bad, once Bellatrix had stopped inflicting physical pain on her. It was actually quite nice at times, like now, in the tranquil library, illuminated by glowing candlelight. A small smile crept onto her face, and she began to read_._

She'd hardly read three pages when she froze.

_…even Transfiguration's most vital restrictions, as stated in Gamp's Law, to which there are five principal exceptions…_

Suddenly she was back three years ago, in the Room of Requirement, having just returned to Hogwarts with Harry and Ron…they were catching up with Ginny, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, Luna…Neville had commented on the room's inability to conjure food, to which Ron had offhandedly replied, "Yeah, well, food's one of the exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration…"

She'd nearly kissed him then.

Eyes brimming with tears, she shut the book forcefully. He was everywhere. They all were, her dear friends, whose fates she did not know; she had no idea whether or not they were still alive…many of them were purebloods. They were still so young, all of them. Surely they would have been spared?

Ron.

She couldn't look anywhere without seeing him, his bright red hair, his brilliant blue eyes, that lopsided grin that still tugged at her heart, even when she hadn't seen him in years…

It would never stop hurting, she knew. Not until she found him.

And she would find him. Things were getting easier here. The other servants were strangers to her; she hadn't gone to Hogwarts with any of them, but they had grown somewhat friendly as of late. She wasn't any closer to getting out, but she wasn't suffering as much either. Her head was clearer; she could still think. She hadn't really given up. She was only playing along. And Bellatrix knew this, she knew.

The woman entered the room as quickly as she'd entered Hermione's thoughts. Quickly, Hermione brushed away her tears. Bellatrix would not see her in this state.

"What are you reading, pet?" she asked interestedly.

"_Basic Elemental Transfiguration,_" Hermione muttered, before quickly transitioning into a more cheerful tone of voice. "I quite like it," she said, turning to face Bellatrix with a convincing smile.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. Not convincing enough. "You've been crying again."

Hermione averted her puffy eyes, but Bellatrix grabbed her chin and tilted it up to look at her. Her eyes were not always black and endless, Hermione had noticed, but a rather warm dark brown when she was in a placid mood. This was their color now. That was a good sign. Bellatrix was not angry, not yet.

"No use crying, girl," she said quietly. "You're here now. You're better off anyway."

Three years ago, Hermione would have angrily retorted. She was a servant of the woman who had killed her best friend's godfather, who had left Teddy Lupin childless, his closest guardian the sister she had disowned and possibly killed by now…she hadn't left the manor, hadn't seen or heard from anyone besides the Lestranges…how could she possibly say she was better off?

But that was then. Now, Hermione nodded, forced her chin to stop quivering. Bellatrix released her, stroked her hair lightly. "Come. You ought to sleep."

Hermione obediently rose, placed the book back on its shelf, and allowed Bellatrix to lead her back to her room, flanked by the Lestranges' personal quarters and the rest of the servants' chambers. Hers was a special place right in the middle.

"Perhaps I'll teach you some new spells tomorrow," Bellatrix offered, waiting beneath the doorframe as Hermione entered the room.

The girl nodded, not meeting her gaze. "I'd like that." And she meant it. She craved the practice, relished it, was astounded and grateful that her wand had not been destroyed, that she was, on occasion, permitted to use it.

Bellatrix nodded in return. "And you'll join us for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Yes, _what_?" Bellatrix pressed.

Hermione tensed. "Yes…madame."

Bellatrix sighed. It was something, at least. A compromise. "Good night, then."

"Good night."

Hermione crawled into bed as Bellatrix exited. It would not be permanent, this farce of submission. She would spend every day working a way out; she would not give up, would not rest until she was free, until she had found Ron again.

She had to do this, she kept telling herself. Harry would understand. Ginny would, too. With a small smile and a tear, she realized that they were together again.

Hopefully, she and Ron would be, too.


	6. Backdoor Dealings

The Leaky Cauldron had seen better days.

Its ceiling and walls were cracked, peeling, barely supported by magic. The whole bloody place would have collapsed if the enchantments were removed. More often than not, tables and chairs were overturned by pissed customers, who usually ended up sent to the Ministry for ancestral questioning—or, if one of the Death Eater guards was having a bad day, Azkaban. After all, only Mudbloods could be subject to such savage displays of pubic drunkenness.

Tom, the bartender, was a pureblood for at least three generations back, so he'd been allowed to maintain his post, although the poor bloke didn't seem to be enjoying it nearly as much. He used to have a cheerful sort of look about him, but that had faded into a perpetual moroseness.

"What'll it be?" he asked the hooded man in front of him as he scrubbed down the counter.

"Firewhiskey," the man grunted. Tom nodded glumly and turned to fetch a bottle. The cloaked man continued surveying him with bright eyes for a moment before turning to scan the rest of the pub.

There was a group of goblins playing cards—there were half a dozen of them, probably only allowed to remain in Diagon Alley because they alone could operate Gringotts. This did not faze Voldemort, who claimed to have no interest in treasure. If anything besides power intrigued him, it remained a mystery to all his subjects.

Adjacent to the goblins were two haggard witches, chattering softly over mugs emitting acrid steam. One kept glancing shiftily over at the four Death Eaters guarding the entrance.

There were a few groups of men scattered throughout the pub. Most were hardly speaking at all. It was a pretty dodgy crowd—but, thought the man in the hood wryly, he supposed he was a part of that now.

Tom returned with his drink, and the man muttered his thanks, growing impatient as he popped it open and took a swig. He examined the patrons again. At last he spotted what he was looking for: a pudgy bloke with an odd-looking hat perched on his head. They made eye contact. The tubby man rose first and made his way upstairs, heading into one of the few rooms left upstairs. After waiting a few moments, the hooded man followed.

He ascended the unsteady stairs, hoping with each creak they would not collapse beneath him, and turned into the decrepit hallway. His quarry was standing outside a door on his left. After briefly checking their surroundings to make quite sure they were alone, he beckoned him in.

The hooded man, the taller of the two, instantly turned and began to mutter protective enchantments around the room. He had done these many times before, he thought grimly, under far more dangerous circumstances than this…but this, tonight, was the most important night he'd had in a while.

When he had finished, he lowered his hood and turned to face the man he had followed. "Wotcher, Dung," he said.

Mundungus Fletcher's double chin dropped; his bristly eyebrows flew up his forehead. "Blimey," he croaked. "Reckon you look a damn bit different, mate." He helped himself to a seat on the couch and began to remove long appendages from the bottoms of his feet. He was now several inches shorter than he had been.

"Spell-Stilts," Mundungus explained to the other man's quizzical look. "Gives yeh an extra few inches…might'n't recognize me if I ain't the shortes' bloke aroun'…useful, righ'? Interested? I coul' get yeh a real good price…"

The man shook his head, chuckling as he sat down in a rickety chair opposite him. "What's with the hat?"

Mundungus's beady eyes lit up at the prospect of another possible sale. "Ah, this," he began dramatically. "This here is what yeh really wan'. Enchanted Occlu-Caps. Blocks them Death Eaters from doin' none o' that Leggy-mens business on yeh—"

"Got it," interrupted the second man, decidedly uninterested. "So, you've got some information for me, then?"

Slightly put out by his failed sales tactic, Mundungus responded rather dejectedly, "Yeah, I s'pose, if yeh still wan' it. Not sure how much it'll help, but a' least it's somethin'…"

"Everything's useful, Dung."

"Righ', then," the short crook reclined, putting his arms behind his head and propping his feet up on the dusty table between them. "Well, yeh know they were splittin' up kids this way 'n that…some, the real pure ones, could stay at Hogwarts, others went straigh' to Azkaban, some o' them…well…yeh know…" he trailed off. Neither of them needed to be reminded of all the zealous young people that had been killed for trying to live.

Clearing his throat, Mundungus continued. "But she was always a brigh' one, she was. You-Know-Who saw somethin' in 'er, I reckon. An' so he didn' do no harm to her."

The man sitting across from him was leaning forward intently now, clinging to each word. "Where is she?" he asked almost desperately, his calm exterior shed completely. "Where is she, Dung?"

Mundungus looked at him. "Las' I heard, she was wit' the Lestranges."

The man held his gaze for a minute before dropping his head, running his hand through his hair, which had not seen a proper trim in ages. He put his face in his hands and let out a great, shaky sigh. Mundungus leant across the table and clapped him on the shoulder. He looked up again. "She's alive," he said breathlessly.

"She's alive," echoed Mundungus. "I dunno if they're hurtin' her, but they can' be doin' nothin' too bad. An, er…_associate_ o' mine saw her jus' a few weeks ago. Looks fine."

The man nodded, seeming unsure whether to celebrate or break down in tears. Relief, anguish, desperate longing washed through him all at once…_how could a human being feel all this at once, and not explode?,_ he wondered, remembering the girl he sought.

Finally, he spoke. "How can I get to her?"

Mundungus sighed. They both knew it wouldn't be easy. "Few well-placed Imperiuses," he suggested. "I reckon you'll have to convince 'em yer some famous foreign bloke who wants ter get in over here…"

"Oddly enough, I've done that once before," the man muttered.

"And look fer the righ' people," Mundungus continued. "We haven' all gone, have we? Reckon you'll fin' a few left on our side willin' to help."

Years ago, the man would have laughed in his face; since when had Mundungus ever shown real allegiance to one side or the other? But now, he knew, he was just the same as him. He had been for some time. Both hid in the shadows, meeting with equally ambiguous people, none of whom were really sure what they were actually dealing with.

"Best o' luck," he said gruffly, clapping him on the shoulder once more.

There was one key difference between them, though, thought the man as he thanked Dung with a handshake and a rather diminutive sack of Sickles. Mundungus was motivated by greed, petty personal gain.

Ron Weasley, on the other hand, was after the woman he loved.


	7. Relative Damage

Breakfast was served early at Lestrange Manor. Hermione timidly entered the kitchen, which was empty save for Rodolphus reading the paper at the table. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable to be alone with him, Hermione sat herself at the opposite end, smiling at the house elves preparing the meal. Normally she would be assisting them, but Bellatrix had specifically asked her to dine with them. She did this every so often, but only for her.

Rodolphus's dark eyes met hers with indifferent appraisement over the top of his paper. "Morning," he said blandly.

"Good morning," she responded politely. Rodolphus was never exactly pleasant towards her, but his presence was certainly bearable, if not a little awkward during moments like these.

"Good morning!" trilled a third voice. Bellatrix came bustling into the kitchen, swooped down to kiss her husband, who looked torn between surprised annoyance and amusement. His wife danced along the floor, smiling sweetly at Hermione. "So glad you could join us, darling."

Hermione gave a small smile in return. She knew why Bellatrix was so jubilant this morning. They were going back to Azkaban tonight.

"Elf?" Bellatrix inquired. "Are you nearly finished?"

"Yes, Missus!" squeaked the elf, scurrying to bring Bellatrix her toast and eggs. In its haste, the little creature slipped and tumbled to the floor, the tray of food crashing on the ground.

Instinctively, Hermione rose from her chair to help the poor thing, but she froze at Rodolphus and Bellatrix's stares. There had been situations like these before, and she had been punished for treating a house-elf with respect.

This time, though, Bellatrix was in too good of a mood, and was almost touched by the girl's consideration. She cleaned the mess with a wave of her wand, and proceeded to tear a page of the paper from Rodolphus's hands, as if nothing had happened.

"Rita Skeeter?" she queried, scanning the article keenly. "I don't suppose you've been in any contact with her recently, have you?"

Rodolphus raised an eyebrow, smirking, and the two began to bicker. The elf remained on the floor, trembling, until it made eye contact with Hermione, who smiled kindly and motioned for it to carry on.

After the meal had been served and the married couple had finished quarrelling about who had hexed whom while the two of them and Rita were at Hogwarts together, Bellatrix turned to Hermione. "You'll make sure the manor is cleaned while we're away tonight?"

"Certainly," Hermione replied.

"Good." Bellatrix nodded, then began to stir her tea dreamily, presumably lost in thoughts of the fun she'd be having tonight.

"Make sure you get the study, would you?" Rodolphus addressed her. "Last time it was an absolute mess."

"Of course."

Bellatrix scoffed. "Perhaps it wouldn't get in that state if you weren't such an arrogant _slob_…" and the bickering resumed. They were an interesting couple, Hermione noted, having observed their mannerisms for several years. The fighting was incessant, but it wasn't always shouting and _Crucio-_ing wars (almost always from Bellatrix to Rodolphus). More often it was these almost endearing little squabbles over the most trivial of things, much like she used to have with—

The pain struck her in the chest, and she jolted forward, tightening her grip on her fork. She hadn't thought of him all day. Hermione tried to distance herself from it, all of it, from him, the pain, all the memories; she sat suspended between these two worlds, the one in which she now resided, and the old world, the good world, where she really belonged.

She was grateful to be alive, cared for, even favored. But how could she ever move on? How could she forget, how could she ever be happy again when all could she think of was what she'd left behind—and that these, her guardians who had taken quite good care of her, were the ones who had taken it all away?

"Girl. _Girl!"_ said Bellatrix sharply, rousing her from her thoughts. Hermione looked up, alarmed, and tried to mask her thoughts. Bellatrix did not require Legilimency to know exactly what she was thinking about. Still, she chose to ignore it.

"We have guests coming today," she continued importantly. "Lucius and Narcissa."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly. "Oh, all right. I'll—begin tidying the parlor."

"Mm. Get one of the others to help, will you?"

"Yes."

"Yes _what_?" asked Bellatrix, irritated.

"Yes, madame."

Bellatrix muttered her disapproval under her breath and waved the girl away. Rodolphus waited until she had left the room before snidely remarking, "She'll never call you that."

His wife shot him a deadly glare. "She will too."

"Bet you ten galleons she doesn't."

"I'll bet you twenty she does."

"Oh, pity, I thought you'd catch on quicker, darling; any transfer of money between us is really null and void…we _are_ married, you know…"

"Shut up," hissed Bellatrix scathingly.

Rodolphus smirked. Bella narrowed her eyes and drew her wand. Her husband followed suit.

A loud _pop_ sounded from the courtyard, and the spouses looked up to see Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy enter their home. Upon seeing her sister and brother-in-law with their wands pointing menacingly at each other's throats, Narcissa wore an expression of annoyed embarrassment. Lucius merely looked rather bemused.

"Good morning," said Rodolphus pleasantly to his in-laws. Pocketing his wand, he shot a meaningful look at his wife.

Bella set his robes on fire anyway.

* * *

><p>"Have you heard of this new gentleman interested in our ranks?" asked Lucius loftily, taking an aristocratic sip of tea.<p>

"What?" asked Bellatrix sharply. "Whom?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "You _haven't?_" He chuckled. "Surely the Dark Lord mentioned to you…?"

Bellatrix's eyes darkened with fury; she clenched her wand threateningly. "If you are insinuating—"

"Lucius is insinuating nothing," Narcissa interrupted, glaring at her husband. Why must he insist on provoking her volatile sister? "He did not hear it from the Dark Lord either. Rosier told us."

Lucius cleared his throat rather sheepishly, his air of importance cracked. The Lestranges smirked.

"So tell us more about this fellow," Rodolphus said. "What's piqued his interest?"

"Apparently, he hails from Stockholm," Lucius answered. "He wants to come have a look at the new regime here, perhaps assist in carrying it out to foreign territories. Resistance, as we know, is even lower there than it is here. Expansion should be quite simple."

"Of course it will be," Bellatrix said dismissively. "The Dark Lord will soon have the entire world at his command. But what does he think of this man?"

Again Lucius raised an eyebrow obnoxiously. "You mean he hasn't told you?" He grinned at his seething sister-in-law, until he caught the look his wife was giving him. Quickly, he altered his tone of voice. "I am…not entirely sure."

Bellatrix looked satisfied. "I shall speak to him about it tonight," she declared, and Rodolphus nodded, smiling at his wife's assertion.

"Tonight?" Narcissa inquired. "What's tonight?"

"You mean your husband doesn't know?" Bellatrix sneered.

Rodolphus stepped in this time. "Tonight we complete the Azkaban interrogations," he informed her, and Narcissa fell quiet, as she often did when presented with information about the brutal acts committed by her sister and husband on a regular basis.

"How is the girl?" she asked Bellatrix, changing the course of discussion.

"She is well." Bella was being dismissive. Narcissa knew she had a soft spot for the girl.

"Perhaps I'll bring Draco along next time," she offered gently.

Bellatrix cackled. "What, Cissy, setting your son up to court a Mudblood?"

Narcissa flushed. "I only thought that you might like for her to have some company. They nearly spoke to each other last time he visited."

"She is happy here," said Bellatrix firmly, and Narcissa did not press the matter.

It was a pity, she thought, that Bellatrix never had children.


	8. Shattering the Wall of Hope

Her footsteps echoed on the cold stone floors of Azkaban prison as she cackled with mad, ravenous glee. Perhaps she would have cleansed her bloodbathed hands had she not been shaking with the post-coital energy that succeeded murder. But perhaps she wouldn't have. She relished the feeling of blood on her hands, and generally enjoyed leaving it there for as long as possible.

Beside her walked her husband, equally satisfied with the night's events, but not quite as outspoken. He smiled at her, a powerful, lust-filled grin. She almost felt attracted to him.

They trailed behind Him, her Lord, her master, who radiated power that she drank willingly. It was her drug, her elixir; she could have lived entirely off of it—and had done so, with just the mere memory of it, during the fourteen years she spent here. How grand it was, to skip past the cells and taunt the prisoners within. How foolish they had been, to attempt to defy her master's infallible beliefs, and now it was _they_ who suffered; it was _they_ who would go mad in here, all of them, unless she killed them first.

For Bellatrix, power was twice as good when possessed in a place where she once had none at all.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix rasped, her face glowing with adoration as her master turned to face her.

"Yes, Bella?" She shuddered to hear his voice.

"I was informed today by my sister and brother-in-law of a man who wishes to learn more about our aims…from Stockholm, they've said…and I wonder, my Lord, what your opinions of him are? Will he be useful?"

The Dark Lord paused, inhaled deeply through his snakelike nostrils. "Ah, yes," he hissed, and Bellatrix shivered again. "I think, Bella, he will prove quite useful indeed. It is time for us to carry our movement beyond Britain. He will be a most valuable asset."

"Can he—can he be trusted, my Lord?" Rodolphus asked, and Bellatrix gave an irritated twitch. She'd forgotten he was here.

Red eyes flashed menacingly, and Rodolphus bowed his head. _Idiot!_, Bella thought.

"Do you doubt my judgment, Rodolphus?" he asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

"N—no, my Lord. Never. I was only—" he balked in his self-justification when he saw the look on his master's face. "Of course not, my Lord."

"Your discernment triumphs over all others, my Lord, always," Bellatrix crooned dotingly, and the Dark Lord looked upon her with favor.

He reached out a skeletal hand, laid a finger upon her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted. She could sense her husband tense beside her.

"You have done well tonight, Bella," her Lord whispered. "Go home…I expect our foreign friend will be paying you a visit soon."

Bellatrix nodded enthusiastically, beaming at having this honor bestowed upon her home. "Thank you, my Lord," she managed before Apparating with her husband.

"Just _think!_" she shrieked joyously upon their arrival back at the manor. "Of all others, we have been chosen to host our Lord's diplomat! Certainly now we shall be an integral part of the shaping of His ministry overseas!" She twittered excitedly all about their bedroom.

Rodolphus, deaf to his wife's jubilance, did not speak. Instead he rose, walked to where she stood, and took hold of her shoulders. Bellatrix stopped chattering, looked into his eyes.

Her husband took her face in his masculine hands, and she found herself covering one of them with her own. He leant down to kiss her. And for a moment, she let him. She might have even kissed back.

One strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him; the other entangled itself in her long, soft, unruly sable curls—

She pulled away, fire in her eyes, and left the room. He did not follow.

Anger pulsed through her as she stalked through the dimly lit halls of her manor. She and Rodolphus were hardly the affectionate sort of couple; they rarely touched at all. They used to do so frequently, as an attempt at an heir, but they had met with little success in that area, and Bella didn't really care to find out why. On occasion, they still had relations to satisfy their basic need for it; they _were_ married, after all; some use could come of it when he wasn't being entirely repulsive…but the kissing, his arm at her waist, his hand in her hair—

None of that would do. Those actions reflected a love she knew wasn't there. And yet he always reverted back to them.

His study was lit, she realized as she walked past it. She doubled back, peered in to observe. The girl was there, knelt beside his desk, her brown eyes glazed over.

Frowning, Bellatrix approached her. "Are you all right?"

The young girl looked up slowly, emerging from a reverie. "Oh—hello. Yes, I'm fine," she said, making an attempt to slip something surreptitiously behind her back. Bellatrix caught her wrist and brought her arm forward.

"What's this?" she asked, plucking a miniature vial adorned with a pink ribbon from the girl's grasp. When she received no response, she removed the stopper and took a whiff.

Instantly she was overcome with a plethora of heavy scents: leather, orchid, _blood,_ a cologne she hadn't smelled in ages…

She quickly resealed it and raised an eyebrow at the girl. "Amortentia?" she sneered, and the young witch blushed. "My idiot husband, hoping to charm a servant girl into shagging him…"

The girl shook her head. "I think it was a gift to him, madame. From one of the other girls."

Bellatrix snorted. That was even more comical. "Why keep it around?" she mused aloud.

"Perhaps he meant to give it to you," came the soft, unbeckoned answer. Bellatrix locked eyes with the girl, who looked uncomfortable, but honest. What made her uneasy was that she could very well be right.

_"Confringo,"_ she muttered, and the vial shattered. The girl yelped, but with a swift wave of her wand, Bellatrix ground the flying shards of glass and potion into dust. She met the girl's gaze. "Why were you so interested in it?"

Hermione gulped. "I…I like the way it smells," she said lamely.

Bellatrix scoffed. "Don't we all?"

The girl shuffled her feet; cast her eyes downward. And Bella knew she had been thinking about the boy. The potion would, presumably, echo his scent for her.

It was getting ridiculous, this business of her missing him so much. How long was it going to take for her to accept that this was her life now?

A memory came to mind; something Rodolphus had suggested the last time Bellatrix had complained about how miserable the girl was. A simple statement, that was all it would take. She would only have to say it once.

"I can't help but miss him," the girl spoke. It was the first time she had ever brought him up in conversation.

Rage bubbled up inside Bellatrix. It was about to come out. She had avoided doing this for as long as possible, but the girl was being so obstinate that she was really leaving her no choice…

But perhaps she should wait. She knew what that would do to the girl, and she didn't know if either of them could handle it just then.

Soft brown eyes had grown pleasantly vacant again; a dreamy little smile had crept onto the young girl's face. It could not have been plainer what she was thinking about.

Bellatrix snapped.

"He is _dead_! He is dead and he will never come for you!"

Hermione's face instantly fell.

"No he isn't," she whispered.

Bellatrix stared into her chocolate brown eyes, wide and desperate, and she surprised herself by wishing she could give her another answer.

"He is dead, Hermione."

The girl clutched her heart. Bella could almost see the wave of pain hit her as she crumpled to the floor, her hand clamped around her mouth.

Bellatrix rushed to kneel next to her, placing a hand on her back. She was trembling fiercely.

"He—he—I—I thought—" the girl stammered, and Bellatrix tried to quell the annoyance that flashed through her. She thought he'd come and rescue her, that they'd live happily ever after, even after all this time. Each time she seemed to get through to the girl, something would remind her of the boy, and Bellatrix would find her progress hindered. The girl had clung so desperately to this last, sweetest link to her past, and now it had finally been broken.

Still, something in Bellatrix ached to see the girl hurting so. "I know," she said quietly. "I'm sorry." She held her arms out, and the girl fell into them, and Bellatrix held her close as the tears began to fall freely.

The girl's armor had begun to crack a long time ago. But it was only now, Bellatrix knew, that she had completely shattered. The loss of the boy she loved had left her completely and utterly broken. Bella began to rock gently back and forth, the girl's face buried in her neck as she sobbed unrestrainedly. Bellatrix stroked her hair with one hand and rubbed her back with the other, kissing the top of her head, making hushing sounds in her ear, hoping that now, maybe, she would forget about all this silly business of the past.


	9. A Tentative Reunion

**A/N: Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews! Enjoy! x**

Rodolphus was enjoying his lounge time as he read near the hearth. The manor had been quiet for some time now, Bellatrix's attention devoted solely to the girl. It had been three days since she had told her the boy was dead, and the girl had gone from hysterics into a sort of numb state of shock, which Bellatrix was determined to break. She forced her to eat and drink, something she certainly would not have done on her own, but the girl was not sleeping, and so Bella would stay with her all through the night ("To make sure she does nothing rash," she had told him. "Wouldn't do to lose a useful servant."). Rodolphus couldn't imagine how interesting that must be for his wife, seeing as the girl had yet to speak since she'd heard the news. He had little concern for the matter, and had been perfectly content to catch up on his reading.

A distinct _pop_ from the courtyarddrew his attention from the book. With a frown, he closed it and paced to the front door to see who had Apparated onto his grounds.

Standing before him was a man clad entirely in black—an automatic plus for anyone hoping to enter. A hood was drawn up over his head, but Rodolphus could discern a pair of bright blue eyes staring fixedly back at him.

"Lestrange, I presume?" the man spoke in a throaty tone.

"Yes," replied Rodolphus in his own deep baritone. "Can I help you?"

The man straightened a bit, as if offended by his question. "Surely your Lord warned you of my impending visit?"

This was the foreigner, the one the Lestranges were to welcome into their home. Inwardly cursing himself for his lack of immediate hospitality, Rodolphus quickly recovered. "Of course, good sir. I apologize; we were not expecting you at this hour. Please, come in."

The man followed him over the threshold, and Rodolphus shut the door behind them. When he turned around, the man had removed his hood. He was broad, with a mane of thick, dark hair and boasted an equally dark beard. Interesting, Rodolphus thought, he looked to be considerably younger than himself; ten years, if not more. All very good. The Cause could use some fresh, foreign faces. He was a strapping lad, too; broad in the shoulders with that glint in his blue eyes. Rodolphus wasn't sure what that meant, but he thought he rather liked it.

He reached out a hand. "Rodolphus Lestrange. Welcome."

"Hospes Peregrine," the man reciprocated, shaking his hand in return. "Can't thank you enough, really. It means a great deal to be welcomed like this."

"Our home is always open to those who are of similar minds." Rodolphus assured him smoothly. "And our Lord assures us that you will be most beneficial to our cause."

The blue eyes locked on his once again. "I hope to be," Hospes said, and Rodolphus approved of the determination in his voice. "Is there a lady of the house?" he inquired.

A momentary pause ensued. Bellatrix was occupied with the girl. She would want to meet him, though; she must. They could have a house-elf watch in her place.

"Yes. I'll go and fetch her. There have been some—ah—_difficulties_ with one of our servants that she's been attending to. Just a moment." He exited the room, and ascended the grand staircase, sincerely hoping that Bella would be in a decent state for their guest.

When he reached his destination, he found the door to the room slightly ajar, and he paused in the doorframe. The girl was sat up in bed, silent as usual. Bellatrix sat at her bedside, equally quiet, covering one of the girl's hands with her own. There was a plate of half-eaten food on the nightstand.

Rodolphus cleared his throat. Bellatrix whipped around, startled. "What is it?"

"Our guest has arrived. He is downstairs."

Bellatrix leapt to her feet. "_Now?_ But the Dark Lord—I did not expect—at this hour?"

"I was just as surprised as you are."

"Well, come! We must—" Bella stopped just as she was about to shove her husband out of the way, and turned back to look at the girl. She was still staring blankly at her lap, unperturbed by her surroundings.

Rodolphus touched his wife's arm. "You can return in a few minutes. She'll be fine."

After a contemplative pause, she shook him off and called for an elf, which appeared at once.

"Keep an eye on her," Bellatrix ordered. "If anything happens, I'll burn your ridiculous ears off."

With a trembling bow, the elf gave a timid squeak in reply. After casting one look at the girl, Bellatrix swept from the room. Rodolphus followed.

Hospes had taken a seat in front of the hearth, skimming through one of Rodolphus's books. Upon the reentry of the couple, he got to his feet and crossed the room to greet Bella. "Madame Lestrange," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Allow me to introduce my wife, Bellatrix. Bella, this is Hospes Peregrine."

"Peregrine?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you from Stockholm?"

Hospes chuckled. "I've been living there for the past several years, yes. But I originally hail from Britain, like yourselves."

"I see." Bellatrix was still scrutinizing him. "I have never encountered a Pureblood by that name."

"But surely you must have! My third uncle thrice removed, Vindex Peregrine, married a woman whom, I believe, was your sixth cousin? Vulpecula Black?"

Bellatrix racked her memory, searching for the family tree her mother had made her spend hours memorizing. "My aunt Walburga may have mentioned a Vulpecula. Is there no one in more recent generations?"

With a shake of his head, Hospes answered, "Unfortunately, no. Uncle Vindex was killed in a duel many years before I was born. I have his middle name."

Bellatrix nodded. "Hospes Vindex Peregrine." The scrutiny of her gaze had vanished, and Rodolphus knew she had conceded. "Welcome to our home."

"Thank you, my lady. I am so very grateful for your hospitality, and eager to learn from such esteemed people such as yourselves. You and your Lord are spoken about with awe by people in Stockholm. Your reputation precedes you," Hospes said with a nod.

"Yours, unfortunately, does not," Bellatrix replied somewhat coolly, but then she gave a small smile. "I am sure we shall get to know one another soon, though." She sized him up one final time, then said, "Come. We will show you to your quarters."

The men followed her back up the staircase, Rodolphus pointing out some of the interesting artwork on the wall, Hospes nodding and questioning him with interest. Good, Bella thought. The men seemed to get on nicely.

When she passed Hermione's room, she took a quick peek in to see if she was all right. She had not moved from her previous stance, and the elf was watching her intently. As was, she realized, Hospes, who had stopped walking altogether and was looking in at her as well.

The girl looked up, looked past Bella at their guest. Something in her shifted. Her mouth opened slightly, but not to speak, only to gaze with confused wonder. If the girl made some sort of scene in front of this man…

"Rodolphus," she hissed. "Show our guest to his room." She turned to Hospes. "Breakfast will be served at seven o'clock. I certainly hope you will join us."

He nodded rather vacantly, still looking at the girl. Bellatrix gave him a winning hostess smile, then shut the door in his face.

"Who was that?" came a weak voice.

Bellatrix turned abruptly. The girl had spoken. "A guest," she replied.

The girl still had that strange look on her face. What was wrong with her?

Just as Bella was about to make her finish the rest of her dinner, the girl made to get up from the bed. Bellatrix went to the bed at once. "Absolutely not. Lay back down."

"Can I—can I see him?" she asked breathlessly.

Bella frowned. "See whom?"

"That man."

"What? Certainly not. Rodolphus is showing him to his room. He'll be down for breakfast in the morning. He's—_what do you think you're doing, girl?_" she asked fiercely as the girl tried to stand up. Bellatrix took hold of the girl's arms, and the little chit was actually _fighting_ her, struggling to break free of her grasp.

"No—no—I want to see him—"

"What's gotten into you? He is a guest in _our_ manor, in which _you_ are our servant! You have no business seeing him! Now get back in bed this instant or I'll see to it that you don't meet him tomorrow, either!"

That got to her. The young witch finally stopped resisting and listlessly fell back into bed. She allowed Bellatrix to tuck her in, who felt a small pang of guilt for shouting at the girl. She hadn't had to do so in ages.

"I know I wasn't able to teach you any new spells the other day," she offered. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

The girl blinked. Bellatrix assumed that was her response. "Are you going back to not speaking now?" Still no reply. Bellatrix sighed. At least when the girl had been crying, she'd given Bella something to _do_—she could try to calm her, comfort her, give her words that she hoped might help. But this perpetual, unbreakable silence—that stumped her. She had stayed by the girl's side for hours on end, trying to strike up the occasional conversation, but when the child would not speak, what more could she do but hold her hand or tuck the occasional loose curl behind her ear?

This would never do, Bella concluded. The girl was never going to get past this, and Bellatrix certainly could not keep this constant watch over her until she did. There was only one way to solve it.

She drew her wand. It had to be done. Having the girl in this state was too confusing and painful, for the both of them.

Hermione eyed Bella's wand warily.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, love," said Bellatrix. She pointed her wand at Hermione.

"_Obliviate._"

* * *

><p>Rodolphus glanced at Hospes out of the corner of his eye. He had gazed so raptly at that girl, and was responding to his paintings with much less enthusiasm than before.<p>

"She is a pretty one, isn't she?" Rodolphus commented, and Hospes turned to him as if waking from a dream.

"Sorry?"

Rodolphus smirked. "Our servant," he elaborated. "I don't blame you for being a bit entranced. Surprising, really, considering she's a Mudblood…"

Hospes's jaw twitched as Rodolphus came to a halt outside a grand set of doors. "Ah," he said. "Here we are." He swung open the doors grandly to reveal a luxurious guest room.

After thanking Rodolphus once again for his and his wife's overwhelming generosity, bidding him good night, Hospes sat down on the bed and covered his face with his hands.

He was here. He was in. The months of training his voice, of essentially re-learning the English language and perfecting it to sound like a pompous prat, had paid off. They didn't suspect a thing. Bellatrix had, at first, but he'd expected she would be difficult to convince. It had worked, though. He was here. The thought left him terrified and exhilarated.

There was a mirror opposite the bed. He looked into it, studied his own face, and marveled at how much he'd changed.

The hair had been the easiest; the simplest of spells brought him several shades darker. He had lost a bit of weight, but gained it back in muscle, and was in far better shape than he'd ever been, even during the peak of Quidditch season. A run-in with some Snatchers had left his nose broken, but the slightly changed shape added to the disguise, so he'd kept it. The only thing he'd left untouched were his eyes, in the hopes that she might still recognize him.

Had it worked? He had been so shocked and overcome just by the mere sight of her; he hadn't been able to tell if she knew. But then he remembered her face when she'd looked up, how she had suddenly become more alert, how her beautiful brown eyes had widened ever so slightly, how her perfect lips had parted—

She knew.

The thought filled him with liquid hope that bubbled and frothed up inside him, and he actually smiled.

If it was true, if she truly recognized him, their escape shouldn't be too hard to manage. Tricky, yes—but not impossible.

There was hope. She had not forgotten him. If she'd ever thought he had forgotten her, now she would know he hadn't. Soon, once they could speak, she would know that every thought that crossed through his mind, every breath he took, every beat of his heart was for her, all of her, and would be until the end of time.

For the first night in years, Ron Weasley slept considerably well.


	10. Forgotten Soulmate

**A/N: More thanks for reviews, keep them coming! x**

An owl came to deliver the paper just as Ron entered the kitchen the following morning. Tentatively, he dug around in his robes for a few spare sickles, when Rodolphus clapped him on the back. "Not to worry, lad, you're a guest."

Ron was relieved; he wouldn't have had enough anyway. "Right. Thanks," he said, taking a seat beside Rodolphus at the table. He glanced at the headline: **DARK LORD'S REIGN OF PUREST POWER SPREADS; MUGGLE KILLINGS ABOUND. **He suppressed a snort. All the headlines had been parroting things like this lately; the freedom of the press had been somewhat revoked under Voldemort's reign, and most reporters—particularly that simpering bitch Rita Skeeter—had instantly altered their styles of writing. It seemed all printed word existed for the sole purpose of proclaiming adoration for the Voldemort and his cause.

Rodolphus caught him studying his paper, and gave an appreciative chuckle. "Fantastic, isn't it? Bloody Muggles don't stand a chance," he said almost boastfully, sipping tea brought by the house-elves. Ron grunted in agreement.

A flash of white from the corner of his eye caught Ron's attention, and he turned, his heart leaping in his chest—but it was another girl clad in the white dressing gown worn by servants of Lestrange manor. She met Ron's eyes shyly, with a slight inclination of her head, then turned to Rodolphus. He sized her up with an appreciative grin, and she blushed deeply, smiling as she turned to help prepare breakfast. Rodolphus seemed to get on particularly well with his servants.

Fury swelled inside of Ron. If this bastard had touched Hermione—

Suddenly he heard voices, just outside the kitchen, and he and Rodolphus both turned towards their source.

"Come now, love, in you get, there's a good girl…" Bellatrix's cooing preceded her as she entered the kitchen, leading a rather dazed-looking Hermione inside with her. Ron's heart leapt a second time, and he jumped involuntarily to his feet, gazing speechlessly at the love of his life standing before him.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus eyed him curiously, and Ron colored. It was clearly not customary to rise at the entrance of a servant, and the married couple hardly seemed to be willing to do it for one another.

Recovering swiftly, he bowed deeply. "Good morning, Madame Lestrange."

Bellatrix nodded curtly, still somewhat confused. "Yes, good morning." She turned her attention back to the girl, ushering her over to a chair three seats from Ron's and sitting down beside her.

"Thank you, Mistress," the girl mumbled blearily. Ron prickled with anger to hear Hermione address Bellatrix in such a subservient manner. He cleared his throat, trying to get her to make eye contact with him, but she would not look up.

"Isn't she going to help with the meal?" asked Rodolphus irritably.

Bellatrix whipped her head around to look at him, eyes blazing. "I hardly think she's in a decent state for cooking," she hissed angrily.

"What's the matter with her?"

"She—" Bellatrix pursed her lips mid-sentence. "Later." Hermione seemed not to have heard her.

A somewhat tense silence ensued. "Aren't you going to greet our guest, dear?" Bellatrix asked Hermione, who turned to Ron and gave a small smile.

"Good morning," she said sweetly, and Ron thought his heart might melt at the sound of her voice. She was speaking to him, finally, after three years…he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her voice alone.

"G-good morning," he stammered, confused—hadn't she reacted last night; hadn't she recognized him? He was certain that she had…his eyes bore deeply into hers as he tried to convey the message, _it's me, Ron, I'm here, I've come for you—_

But she turned back to stare vacantly at the tablecloth. What had happened?

"Is breakfast nearly ready?" barked Bellatrix. The house-elf and other servant girl rushed over to the table.

"Here you are, Mistress Bellatrix," said the girl as she set the steaming plates down on the table. "And for you, Master." She slid his plate towards Rodolphus. He winked, and the girl blushed once more.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "That will do," she said icily. "Go and see to the garden." The girl bowed as she was dismissed, and the house-elf followed.

The rest of breakfast was lost to Ron. He attempted to stomach the articles Rodolphus kept passing him, responding with what he hoped were appreciative laughs to his twisted comments. He spent most of his time casting furtive glances at Hermione, trying not to make his transfixion obvious. She did not look at him again, hardly reacted to anything at all, only to speak politely when Bellatrix addressed her.

"How are you feeling, pet?" Bella asked her when the meal was nearly finished.

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I'm a bit tired, Mistress. I feel…rather odd."

_What the hell has she done to her?_ Ron thought desperately.

Bellatrix nodded and waved her wand, summoning a mug of steaming tea from the countertop. "Drink this. It'll help."

Murmuring her thanks, Hermione lifted her lips to the mug and began to sip. After a moment she sighed and closed her eyes.

"Better?" Bellatrix asked.

Hermione's eyes flew open, brighter than they'd been all morning, and she nodded more enthusiastically. "Much better, Mistress; thank you!"

Bella gave her an affectionate smile and finished her breakfast before speaking again. "You'd best go lie down a bit more. I'll send for you later."

Obediently, Hermione curtsied and left the room, without so much as a backwards glance at Ron. His chest ached as she disappeared out of sight.

"What was all that about?" Rodolphus asked with mild interest, not removing his eyes from the paper. Ron leant inexorably forward, craving to know what had prompted this bizarre change of circumstances.

Bellatrix cleared her throat. "I was getting nowhere with her. She hadn't spoken in days; you saw how it was. And then last night, she had some sort of…strange reaction." Her dark eyes darted momentarily to Ron. "I had to modify her memory."

Ron's grip tightened on his fork so much he thought he might break it. "You _what_?" he asked loudly.

Alarmed, Bellatrix turned back to him, her eyebrows high on her forehead. "I beg your pardon?"

Rodolphus actually looked at him over his paper, his eyebrows raised like his wife's. Ron swore mentally. "I only meant—it must have been an extreme case. What required a Memory Charm?" His question was transparent, he knew, and though Rodolphus turned his attention back to the _Prophet_ after a moment, Bellatrix kept her eyes threateningly fixed on him.

"The girl, obviously, is a Mudblood we acquired after the war," she said coolly. "She lost several of her pathetic little friends during the final battle and was just informed of another loss a few days ago." Bellatrix sniffed. "This one was…particularly difficult for her to handle." Her eyes hardened. "It was near impossible for her to function properly. She's better off this way." Her tone was firm, successfully masking any qualms she'd had about her action.

Nodding acquiescently to cover his rage, Ron turned to finish his meal, and found that he already had some time ago. Rather awkwardly, he placed his fork back on the table, avoiding looking back up into Bellatrix's dangerous stare. He would have to be especially careful around Bellatrix for the next few days. Once she suspected something, he knew he'd be done for.

Bella summoned the house-elf to clear the table.

"Thank you for the pleasure of dining with you," said Ron in what he hoped was a gallant tone of voice.

With a curt nod, Bellatrix exited quickly.

"Where's she off to in such a hurry?" Ron asked Rodolphus, who looked up with a roll of his eyes.

"Off to see the girl again, I expect," he answered indifferently. "Not really sure what she's done to her, but she hasn't left her alone for more than a few minutes."

Ron nodded, the gears of his mind turning furiously. _I have to get her alone,_ he thought.

He would get through to her. She had to remember him. She was his everything.

She _had_ to.


	11. Lessons in Cruelty

The girl was dozing when Bellatrix entered the room. She closed the door quietly behind her and made her way over to the bed, perching on the edge. Gently, she reached out a finger and stroked the girl's cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave a sleepy smile, which Bella returned.

"H-hello Mistress Bellatrix," Hermione yawned. "I'm sorry, I don't know why, I'm just so _tired_..."

"Don't be sorry," Bellatrix dismissed. "You've been working awfully hard lately. It's to be expected." She paused, studying the girl's face, wondering if now was the best time for what she was about to say. Then she remembered the man downstairs and made her decision. "If you're feeling up to it, I should like to teach you some new spells today."

Hermione beamed. "Would you?" she gasped, eyes sparkling. "Oh, Mistress, _thank_ you!" She threw her arms around Bellatrix's neck. Startled, but pleased, Bella returned the embrace.

"Come," she said, patting the girl's back. "I'll fetch your wand."

She led Hermione down the corridor to one of the spare rooms where they usually practiced. Making her way over to an armoire in the corner, Bellatrix began waving her wand and murmuring incantations under her breath. She had never let the girl see where she kept her wand before, but given her current state of mind, she saw no reason not to.

Withdrawing her wand from the topmost drawer, Bellatrix returned it to Hermione, who was fidgeting with eager anticipation. "What are you going to teach me, Mistress Bella?"

Bella chuckled. "Patience, pet." She began to pace. "Today you'll learn something… rather unlike the spells you're accustomed to." She paused. "You may not particularly like it at first, but I assure you it is of the utmost importance." Looking Hermione in the eyes, she continued, "It is necessary that you learn how to defend yourself."

"But—Mistress Bella, you've already taught me—"

"_Properly_ defend yourself," Bellatrix clarified. "The things I've taught you will be useful only in minor struggles. Now, while I certainly don't anticipate you engaging in any sort of battle, it's still prudent to know how…and one can never be too sure…"she trailed off, her mind again drifting to Hospes.

He had taken a liking to the girl; that much was painfully obvious. But why the sudden outburst when she'd mentioned the memory charm?

Shaking her head, Bellatrix returned her attention to Hermione. "It is absolutely necessary," she said, "That you learn these things, and that I be the one to teach you. You must concentrate on these more than you have with anything else. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course, Mistress."

Bellatrix smiled. "Good girl." She positioned herself behind Hermione, steadying the girl with a hand on her shoulder and enclosing the girl's wand hand in her own. She raised it so the girl's wand pointed in midair. "Now, repeat after me: _Minuoxis._"

Hermione echoed the incantation, allowing Bellatrix to guide her hand, slicing her wand through the air in an _X_ motion. She repeated this a few times on her own until Bella was pleased.

"Excellent," Bellatrix praised, and Hermione smiled. "This one next: _Exuro_," and she had the girl cut the wand in an upward direction. Again, the girl caught on quickly, as she always did.

Finally, Bella's grip on the girl tightened as she said softly, "Now, my pet, I think you're ready." The girl quivered in anticipation. "This is one of my favorites…" Bellatrix whispered the word in her ear. "_Crucio._"

Hermione shivered. The word resonated strangely with her. She seemed to be forgetting spells lately, and Mistress Bella had been kind enough to teach her others, but something about this one wasn't sitting quite right with her. "Mistress?" she asked. "What exactly do these spells do?"

Bellatrix grinned. "Ah," she said. "You'd like to try them out? Follow me." She took the girl by the arm and led her through the manor, descending staircases and taking Hermione farther down into its depths than she had ever been before.

Opening the heavy cellar door let out a rush of cold air, and Hermione shifted closer to Bellatrix, shivering. "Mistress, why are we—?"

"Shhh." Bellatrix led her through dank, dark chambers and hallways, until at last they reached the cells. She could not have the girl asking questions now. Generally she reserved the most prominent resistance figures for Azkaban, but one could never be too sure…someone here might recognize her. The less she spoke, the better.

Bellatrix slowed her pace, stalking past the prisoners cowering in their cells. She considered each of the disgusting creatures in turn, until… "Ah, yes," she hissed, finally settling in front of one. "This one, I think, will be a suitable subject…" Bellatrix was breathing heavily, her sadism awoken just by being in the mere presence of suffering. "Are you ready?" She turned to the girl for the first time since they'd entered the cellar.

Hermione was wide-eyed and trembling, staring at the surrounding prisoners in petrified horror. "R-ready for what?" she stammered.

"To practice," said Bellatrix irritably, and the girl's eyes widened even more.

"P-practice? You can't possibly mean—you're not suggesting I—"

"Yes, I am," Bellatrix snarled, and Hermione stepped back upon hearing the dangerous tone of her voice. Her mistress saw this, and seized her wrist, pulling her back towards her. "I hope you're not thinking of disobeying me, girl," she growled.

"N-no, Mistress, never, b-but—"

"But nothing! Do it, or I shall punish you! Do it, _now!"_ Bellatrix barked.

Hermione bit her lip. Mistress Bellatrix had never taught her anything _bad_ before... only things to make the household work more efficient, the occasional defensive spell, a few other interesting charms... but something about these just seemed wrong. Bad. Still, she feared punishment and disappointment, and so she raised her wand, shut her eyes, and crossed her wand in the air. "_Minuoxis._"

The strangled cry of the prisoner made her eyes fly open again. An X had been cut on his chest, blood seeping out of it, staining his rags red.

"Oh!" Hermione dropped her wand, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

Bellatrix raged. "_Pick it up!_" she screeched. "Pick it up, you stupid girl, you're not finished yet!"

Hermione bent down to retrieve her wand. Her face glistened with tears when she stood up again. "M-Mistress, please—please, let me heal him—"

"_Heal him?_" Bellatrix cackled. "Pathetic, useless girl—you're lucky I haven't destroyed your wand—"

"I know!" the girl cried in desperation. "I know, Mistress, I do, but…I…please…"

"DO IT!" Bellatrix screamed, and Hermione jumped before turning to face the imprisoned man, lifting her wand with a quivering hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "_Exuro._"

The prisoner began to howl again, and Hermione shut her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "It burns!" the man shouted. "IT BURNS—STOP—"

Hermione dropped her wand again, and an enraged Bellatrix dragged the girl to her feet, forcing it back into her hand. "_You will finish it!"_ she shouted, pulling her so that she could attack again. "Now—_now, focus!_"

But the girl was crying too hard. "I can't, I can't, please, Mistress, don't make me—"

"Be _quiet! Do as I say!_"

She shook her head, and the word slipped out with a sob. "No."

Bellatrix whirled the girl around to face her. "_What did you say to me?_"

"I won't!" Hermione sobbed. "I can't, I won't, _please—_"

Bellatrix smacked her across the face. The blow echoed throughout the dungeon, and the girl fell into stunned silence, tears continuing their path down her cheeks.

All was quiet for a few moments, before Bellatrix, breathing deeply, regained her composure. With one hand on each of the girl's shoulders, she ordered, "You've one curse to go. Pull yourself together, and _do it._"

She turned Hermione back around, helping her lift her wand a third time. "There we go," she urged. "Just like I showed you…"

Hermione parted her trembling lips and whispered, "_Crucio._"

Screams, louder than all previous ones, were torn from the prisoner's throat. He thrashed on the ground against the pain, and Hermione was sobbing again, her hand shaking so fiercely that she surely would have dropped the wand again if Bellatrix hadn't been supporting her—

After a few minutes, Bellatrix let go of her, and Hermione fell to the ground, her wand clattering to the floor beside her. It rolled, to Bellatrix's horror, into the cell of the fallen prisoner, who clutched at it feebly from the ground, raising it with a withered hand—

Bellatrix lunged forward and seized it before he could even open his mouth. She wrenched it from his grasp, breaking three of his fingers in the process and cackling at his umpteenth scream of pain.

"I think," she said coldly, "we are finished for now. Come, girl."

But Hermione was still shaking and crying on the floor. Rolling her eyes, Bellatrix walked towards her, slipping her arms under hers and hoisting her up. "Get up, girl. _Get up._"

Hermione clutched Bellatrix as she struggled to her feet, taking large, shaky breaths in an attempt to ebb the tears. Bella began to lead her out of the dungeon when she cried, "Wait!"

Raising an eyebrow, Bellatrix turned. "You fancy another round?"

"No!" Hermione shuddered, then looked back at the prisoner, still bleeding on the ground. "Can we—can we heal him?" she asked desperately.

Bellatrix laughed. "I think not," she said. "Have a good evening, Mr. Ollivander!" Cackling madly, she dragged the girl along behind her.

* * *

><p>Bellatrix entered Hermione's room again that night, and the girl jumped when she heard the door open. "It's only me, child," Bellatrix scoffed as she shut the door behind her.<p>

The girl turned back to the book in her lap, combing through her hair with a brush from the nightstand. She'd just had a bath, but her eyes were still swollen from earlier. "Good evening, Mistress," she mumbled without making eye contact. She would not forget her manners, even under these circumstances.

Bellatrix sighed as she made her way over to the bed. She sat down beside the girl, who did not look up. "You understand that everything I had you do today was absolutely necessary."

Hermione looked up through puffy red eyes. She did not speak.

"It's for your own good," Bellatrix continued. She reached out to touch the girl's chin, and she flinched. This stunned Bellatrix, coming from the girl, who usually enjoyed and craved such affection. She took her chin in her hand anyway, and tilted her head, shedding more light on the darkish bruise from where she'd slapped the girl earlier. She brushed a thumb over it, and the girl winced. Another twinge of guilt struck Bella's heart. She had been rougher with the girl today than she'd been in quite some time.

Pulling out her wand, she murmured healing charms until the mark disappeared completely, and the girl's cheek had returned to its usual rosy color.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Bellatrix patted the mattress in front of her. "Come."

Warily, Hermione closed her book and moved closer to Bellatrix, who turned her around and picked up the brush lying next to them. Bella began to brush the girl's hair gently, removing the knots with care and tenderly running her fingers through the wet locks. After a little while, she felt the girl relax, and rubbed her shoulder approvingly.

Bella thought of Hospes again; she'd been thinking about him all day. She'd lied on the first night he'd come; Walburga had never mentioned a Vulpecula Black. And it hadn't been on the tree, either; she'd had to memorize the damned thing a hundred times.

Surely her Lord would recognize if a traitor had tried to smuggle himself into their midst. But still, Bellatrix couldn't shake the feeling that this man might have some resistance sympathies—mostly for the strange way he seemed to act around Hermione. There was something there that was more than brief infatuation for the girl. He knew something.

"At some point," Bellatrix said quietly, "People may say some strange things to you. They will try to make you doubt who you are, bringing up what they say are memories from the past…but that past is not yours, Hermione. You know who you are; you know where you belong. The world is as it was always meant to be."

Hermione nodded slowly, though her assent was a lie. Truthfully, she didn't always know who she was, or where she belonged. She listened to what Mistress Bella told her about the war, that people had fought and died but the right side had eventually won. She had been saved from the lowest of the low, recognized for her talent, and brought here in exchange for the occasional servant's work. To be here was a privilege, she knew. But sometimes, her past came to her in bits and pieces, and she couldn't help feeling as though there were great chasms of her life that she simply could not remember.

Mistress Bella said it was because the other Mudbloods had made her live their terrible lives during the war, and she shut them out because it was too horrible to remember. Hermione imagined this must be the case, for why else would half of her life seem to be missing?

She rested her head against Bellatrix, who kissed the top of it. "I just want you to be safe," Bellatrix murmured into the girl's hair.

"I know, Mistress," the girl sighed. "I know."

Bellatrix rested her head on top of the girl's, and the two sat quietly.


	12. Bridging the Chasm

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! School's started up again, so I've been pretty busy. Updates won't be as frequent, but I promise they'll keep coming! Thank you for reviews x**

When Ron awoke several mornings later, the manor was unusually quiet, the bustle in the kitchen he'd become accustomed to completely absent. Curiously, he edged out of bed and into the corridor, tossing a dressing robe on as he did so. Upon seeing that the hallway was positively empty, he quietly made his way downstairs.

He hadn't seen Hermione since breakfast a few days ago. Rodolphus had been enthusiastically dragging him to Death Eater meetings, where he was always forced to sit uncomfortably close to Voldemort. Ron had never been more grateful for the Occlumency lessons Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him after the war. Voldemort, he was sure, did not suspect a thing.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, was a different story. She always spoke to him in a brisk, clipped manner, narrowing her eyes whenever he asked questions and never prolonging a conversation for more than a few minutes. At times, it almost felt like she was keeping him from Hermione.

But that was impossible, he knew. She couldn't have caught onto him. He'd left no trail.

He reached the kitchen, and was surprised to find no one there. He glanced at the clock on the wall, an ornate black fixture with blood-red hands ticking ominously around it. Painfully, he remembered the clock at the burrow, and how at least two of the hands were pointed at "Lost" for good, and who knows how many more by now…

Shaking his head, he banished these thoughts for now. Thinking of his family was too painful. He hadn't seen his parents or remaining siblings—_brothers, _he corrected himself; they had killed his sister, his only sister—since he'd gone into hiding. The last time he'd seen Kingsley, he said they were all still alive and safe. News had been scarce since then. He could only hope things were still the same.

According to the Lestranges' clock, which he had quickly come to hate, breakfast ought to be served right about now, yet there was still no one around. Ron considered going back to bed, but then he realized…if Bellatrix was nowhere to be found, he might have a chance—

He bolted out of the kitchen, sprinting up the stairs—he knew exactly where she'd be.

Ron threw open the French doors to the library, and his heart rose at the sight of the beautiful young woman sitting inside. His sudden appearance had frightened her, though, and with a small squeal, she dropped the book she had been reading, her brown eyes wide.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, turning crimson. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Hermione continued to stare at him, responding only with a small nod. Ron shifted awkwardly. It killed him, seeing her like this, having to start all over, just when they'd finally got it together…

It had been silent for several minutes, he realized. Clearing his throat, he made some excuse for his barging in. "Er…I was just wondering…erm…have I missed breakfast?"

Instantly, Hermione's expression softened. "Of course not, sir! The lord and lady are out of the house today…I didn't think you'd be up quite so early. I thought someone would have prepared you something…oh, but you must be starving!"

Ron began to deny this, but his growling stomach interrupted him. "Er…a bit, yeah," he mumbled. He wished his ears would stop burning.

Hermione smiled so sweetly he thought his heart would burst. "Then you ought to eat straight away, sir." She placed her fallen book back on its shelf with the utmost care, then glided across the room, opening the door in front of him. "If you'll follow me, please, I'll fix some breakfast for you, sir."

He couldn't bear her talking to him like this, and so he reached out and gently touched her arm. She looked up at him, somewhat startled, and he said softly, "You don't need to call me that." When she looked confused, he clarified, "Sir, I mean. None of that stuff."

Tentatively, Hermione asked, "What would you like me to call you, then?"

"Ro-" he bit his tongue, cleared his throat. "Hospes. Just Hospes is fine."

She gave him another small smile. "Hospes, then. If you'll follow me."

She led him downstairs to the kitchen, drew a chair for him, and, with the help of a house-elf, began making him breakfast.

Ron couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't believe that they were finally alone together—and in a sick way, he thought wryly, this is what he always imagined they'd be doing, starting the morning by having breakfast together. But in his mind, they'd be in a place of their own, maybe even married by now, having Harry and Ginny over…

But life hadn't turned out that way. The love of his life had been brainwashed into becoming a servant for a woman who had personally tortured her; she had no idea who he was anymore; they were dining as strangers in an even stranger place, and his best friend and sister were gone where he could not ever reach them.

It dawned on him that he had yet to start a conversation with her. He searched desperately for something to talk about, realizing that they might not have much time to be alone together. He had to get her to remember him as quickly as possible.

"So—so how long have you been here?" he asked.

She glanced at him for a moment. He savored the eye contact. "I have been here since the war ended."

It wasn't a straight answer. Had Bellatrix completely destroyed her sense of time? Remembering that he was a foreigner, he realized he had an excuse to question her further. He tried to lapse back into the proper form of speech he'd been using. Somehow he always seemed to forget it around her. "And how long ago was that, exactly? I haven't been over here long—I've been in Stockholm, you see."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. "It was—" she gulped, clearly struggling to remember. "I—I don't remember exactly. Sometimes things are…a bit blurry…"

She bit her lip. Ron's heart cracked. "Do you—do you like it here?" he asked, trying to distract her from whatever pain she was feeling.

Her eyes lit up a bit. "Oh, yes," she said, smiling radiantly. "Yes, Mistress Bellatrix was very kind to take me in. If not for her, I might—I might not even be alive."

Ron shuddered, because he knew this was true. Even if she had been reduced to this state, she was still alive. He never thought he'd feel grateful towards Bellatrix Lestrange.

"And Madame Lestrange—she's a good woman, is she not?"

Hermione gave a small gasp. "Of _course_ she is!" she exclaimed, as if to suggest the opposite was preposterous.

"Sorry," Ron said quickly. "I didn't mean to offend—"

"No, no, that's all right," Hermione amended quickly, blushing slightly at her small outburst. This was certainly no way to treat a guest. "It's just that—I'm very grateful for Mistress Bella, and everything she's done for me." She turned back to making breakfast.

"Mistress Bella?" Ron repeated. "I don't hear any of the other servants call her that."

Hermione blushed more deeply. "She says only I am allowed to call her that," she admitted. "And I'm—I'm not meant to do it in company."

Ron grinned. "I won't tell." She smiled in return. "You and she seem to get on quite well," he offered, clearly sensing that Hermione took pride in this relationship.

She nodded. "I'm very grateful," she said again. "She's been so good to me."

"How so?" Ron asked.

Hermione paused. "There have been times," she said slowly, "when I've required… counsel. Or comfort." She cleared her throat. "Rather than punishing me for any weakness, Mistress Bella has obliged, and gladly given me what I need." Her eyes met Ron's. "It's very kind of her." She began piling food on his plate, and added, "And sometimes she's good enough to teach me spells."

"You mean you've still got a wand?" Ron asked in shocked animation.

Hermione blinked. "Why, yes."

Ron's head was spinning. Imagine how easy it would be for them to get out, with _two_ wands instead of one! True, Bellatrix and Rodolphus were possibly the most skilled witch and wizard around, save Voldemort, but they could make it, if he could just gain her trust…

He realized she was still staring at him perplexedly. He cleared his throat. "That—that is very kind of her. Indeed." He flushed. Adding that word to anything made him sound more respectable, but also like a complete tosser.

Hermione served him his food. Ron thanked her, and then sensed that she was about to leave him. "Wait," he blurted, before she'd even moved. She raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Would you—would you join me?" he asked, gesturing to the chair across from him. She seemed surprised. "Please," he said earnestly. "I'd be honored if you would."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. "If that is your wish, Hospes," she agreed, smiling as she took a seat across from him.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Ron asked. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but the little house-elf scurried to give her a portion, and she smiled sweetly as she thanked it. Ron's mind went back to her S.P.E.W. days, and he hoped more than ever that he'd be able to call Hermione back to the ghost of the girl sitting in front of him.

They ate quietly for a few minutes. Ron suspected that she would not speak unless spoken to, so he tried to keep the flow of conversation going. He asked her about trivial things: her favorite books, spells, colors…everything he already knew, of course. He felt a rush of gratitude at the fact that these things had not changed.

Slowly, he transitioned into more personal questions, attempts to trigger her memory. "Where did you study?" he asked her, and she frowned.

"I—I don't believe I ever did," she confessed. "Not really, anyway. Mistress Bellatrix says other Mudbloods tried to teach me when I was younger, but nothing they taught me really counts. She's been helping me make up for it, which is very kind of her, considering I'm a Mudblood, too."

Ron's grip on his cutlery tightened. "Don't call yourself that," he mumbled, and Hermione seemed surprised. "It's—it's sort of a slur," he covered. "In Stockholm."

She nodded, and continued to eat daintily. He watched her, his chest aching for the loss of all her happiest memories of Hogwarts. That's what had been their whole lives, really.

"What sort of things does Bellatrix teach you?" he asked quietly, realizing too late his failure to add any proper title before her name.

This did not go unnoticed by Hermione, but she answered him, anyway. "Simple things, mostly…charms to tidy up the manor, a few basic defensive spells, and…" her voice trailed off and her eyes glazed over momentarily as her mind drifted back to a few days ago, when Bellatrix had taken her down to the dungeons.

"Has she ever taught you anything…bad?" Ron pressed gently, and Hermione immediately locked her eyes with his.

"How did you…" she cut herself off, shaking her head. "No. No, of course not. Mistress Bellatrix wouldn't—she would never—" her hands began to tremble, and she slammed her fork down with more force than she'd intended.

"Hermione," Ron said, and again she raised her eyes up to him. "Bellatrix is known for being cruel."

She shook her head emphatically. "Don't say that."

"It's true." Ron stood and made his way over to her. Hermione looked at him with wide, desperate eyes.

"No, it isn't," she whispered.

He knelt down beside her. "Yes," he murmured. "It is. Everyone's heard of her, and they don't speak of her as kindly as you do."

"But that's because they don't know her like I do!" Hermione cried. "She is good to me; she is kind, and warm, and—"

Carefully, Ron placed his hand on her left forearm. Startled, Hermione looked down at it, then met his gaze again.

"May I?" he asked, and she nodded, not really knowing what she was agreeing to.

Ron began to roll up her sleeve, revealing a three-year-old scar that had barely faded with the passage of time. Letter by letter the hateful word was uncovered, and Hermione's eyes widened to see what she kept so carefully hidden. She stared at him in utter bewilderment. "How did you…?"

"Do you know who gave this to you?" Ron kept his blue eyes locked on Hermione's brown orbs.

"A…a…someone…during the war…" Hermione shook her head, frowning. "I don't understand; how did you know—?"

Ron shook his head. "It was Bellatrix, Hermione."

Hermione withdrew her arm sharply from him. "No! How—how _dare_ you! How could you suggest—" but her voice did her angry words no justice; it had begun to break; her eyes were filling up with tears.

"You know," Ron said quietly. "You know what she's capable of…has she…has she ever hurt you?" He reached out and gently brushed her perfect face, and she blinked, unsure how to respond. So she remained silent.

"There are things you don't remember, am I right? Bits of your life you can't seem to recall…there's a reason, Hermione. She's not on your side."

A tear finally fell from her eyes. Ron reached up to brush it away, but she slapped his hand away. Surprised, he drew back, searching her face. "She is too!" she cried indignantly. "You—you know _nothing._ She cares for me like no one else has—she c-comes in and brushes my hair at night, she h-holds me and rubs my b-back when I have nightmares, she thinks I'm good enough for her to t-teach me…" her voice died away as her eyes flickered back to the wound on her arm. "She can't have," she said quietly. "She can't possibly have done this."

"You are good enough. Better, actually. You're brilliant. You were always the best in our year; you deserve to be taught anything you want…you're as good as she is, at least," Ron said earnestly, and Hermione was more confused than ever.

"Best in our…? Hospes, what are you talking about?" she asked in angry perplexity.

Just as Ron was about to try explaining, a _crack_ sounded from the garden, and they both jumped to their feet. Ron scrambled for one final statement to convince her, something, anything…

Nothing came. So he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

It was beautiful, his hand in her soft brown curls, her soft lips pressed against his again, finally, _finally—_

And it was over in seconds. She pulled away, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. "Don't—you can't—" she stammered, also struggling for something to say.

They heard the front door open. The Lestranges had entered the manor.

Hermione whirled back to face Ron, looking more like the girl he loved than ever. "You had no right," she hissed, "_no right_ to do that. I have—I have told you more than I should; opened up to you for—for some reason. It was foolish, I shouldn't have done. And I don't intend to speak to you again." She finished her vicious soliloquy just as Bellatrix and Rodolphus entered the kitchen.

"Oh, good morning," said Rodolphus, looking surprised to see his servant and guest in conversation. "Had a nice breakfast, did you?"

Ron was about to answer, but Bellatrix's deadly stare froze his voice in his throat.

"Yes, Master," Hermione replied smoothly. "It's just been finished. Shall I make some more for you?"

"No, no, we've eaten at Rosier's…ah, the _Prophet_'s here, excellent." He sat down and instantly became engrossed in the paper, as was his wont.

"Hermione," said Bellatrix, her black eyes still locked on Ron's, "go upstairs for a bit, would you? I shall be up momentarily."

"Yes, Mistress." Hermione swept out of the room without so much as a second glance back at Ron.

Bellatrix stalked slowly towards Ron, who managed a shaky, "Madame Lestrange! How has your morning been?"

She ignored him. He gulped. This was not a good sign.

"I see you've been spending some time with my servant girl," she said almost conversationally. Memories of this woman killing Sirius, setting his house on fire, dueling and nearly killing his mother flashed through Ron's mind as he took an involuntary step backward. Bellatrix was clever at masking her madness.

"She made a most excellent breakfast," he said, nodding stupidly. He had to get back into her good graces…was he ever in them to begin with?

"Lovely," Bellatrix sneered. She leant in closer, successfully intimidating him despite the fact that she was a good seven or eight inches shorter than him. "I see you need reminding that you are a guest in this house, Peregrine. My servants are not up for grabs, this one in particular."

"Bellatrix," said Rodolphus admonishingly. She turned and sent him a withering stare, which he held for a few moments before returning his attention to the paper with a sigh.

"She's a fragile girl," Bellatrix said quietly. "I'll not have you sneaking about, filling her head with things she can't understand."

"She's brilliant," Ron shot back, staring at the floor.

Bellatrix snarled. "I beg your pardon?"

Ron realized he couldn't afford to fight with her. He would pay for it with his life. With great effort, he looked her in the eyes and nodded conciliatorily. "You're right. I apologize, madame." He shifted uncomfortably. "She's a beautiful girl. I was…taken with her. I am sorry if I came off as ungracious."

Bellatrix held his gaze for a few moments more before nodding slowly. "Very well, then," she said, her breathing returning back to normal. She made to exit, but turned back to Ron once more.

"I know she's brilliant," she said, before leaving the room to see the girl.


	13. Fragments of Truth

**A/N: It's a bit short, but wanted to give you all something - thanks as always for reviews! PS: Romance and Musicals, you have more faith in my writing than I do! I didn't even notice that connection... but make of it what you wish! x **

Hermione had retreated to the library, trying in vain to focus on the book in her lap. She could not shake the kiss from her mind. It had been so sudden, so unexpected, so _nice_…

She shook her head. This was unacceptable. What would her Mistress say, if she knew she'd been kissing guests in the kitchen? No, she simply would not think about it again, would not think about his blazing blue eyes, or the feel of his hands in her hair, or how soft his lips felt against her own—

The sound of the door opening roused her, and she jumped from her seat, turning with wide eyes to face her Mistress.

Bellatrix blinked. "What's the matter with you, child?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Nothing, Mistress. You just—you just gave me a fright, that's all." With an embarrassed little laugh, she sank back into the chair. Bellatrix sat in the one across from her.

"I noticed you dined with Hospes this morning," Bellatrix began.

Hermione gulped. "Please don't be angry, Mistress," she implored. "He asked if I would join him, and you weren't home, so I thought—if he should like some company—I was only trying to—"

Bellatrix waved a hand dismissively. "Hush, darling, I'm not angry. I only want to know…how was it?"

This surprised Hermione, and she searched her Mistress's face for any clandestine motives. Finding none, she responded hesitantly, "It was…fine." She paused. "He seems to be a fine addition to the Dark Lord's cause," she added. For some reason, she felt the need to boost Hospes's reputation around Bellatrix.

"Hmm." A touch of scrutiny had entered Bellatrix's gaze, and Hermione tensed. "So you like him, then?"

Hermione shrugged. "I suppose. I—I don't know him very well." She found she could not hold Bellatrix's stare without blushing at her prevarication, and dropped her gaze to the floor.

Bellatrix placed a finger beneath her chin, drawing her face back up at once. "Has he tried to touch you?"

Brown eyes widened ever so slightly, followed by "N-no…of course not, Mistress…"

It was not a convincing response, and Hermione knew it. Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare lie to me, girl."

Hermione bit her lip. "Mistress, please don't be angry—"

"He did, then!" Bellatrix said, very angrily indeed.

"No! Well—he—he hasn't hurt me, Mistress—"

"What happened?" Bellatrix demanded. The girl shuffled her feet and looked at the floor. Bellatrix tilted her chin upward again. "_What happened?_" Hermione kept opening and closing her mouth, blinking rapidly and dawdling far too long for Bellatrix's liking. With an exasperated sigh, she withdrew her wand. _"Legilimens!" _

Hermione gasped as the spell hit her, and an unbidden onslaught of memories swam to the front of her mind. She saw what Bellatrix saw; herself reading books in the library, dusting a bookshelf, sharing a Pumpkin Pasty with another servant girl, conversing with a house-elf…

Now she was back in her room, Bellatrix was brushing her hair, and things were getting darker; she was performing the Cruciatus Curse on the man in the cellar, she was waking from a nightmare, screaming and bawling into Bellatrix's chest as she held her close…

And now she was seeing unfamiliar things, in short, clipped sequences—an explosion, a snow-covered forest, a decrepit old house, a silver-bearded man, a ginger cat and a black dog, a stern-faced woman pointing at a chalkboard, endless rows of glass orbs, a stout woman clad in pink, a falling chandelier, a frosted tombstone, a magnificent castle lit against a blackened sky, a dark, dank chamber, a lightning bolt scar, a flash of red hair—

The spell was lifted, and Hermione gave a startled cry as she collapsed back into the chair. "He _kissed_ you?" Bellatrix was screeching. "The ungrateful, disgusting excuse for a man, I shall kill him myself—"

Hermione did not know how Bellatrix had managed to even see the kiss through all the other memories when she herself hadn't been aware of it. All she knew was that a raging Bellatrix was very noisily making her way over to the door, shouting about the things she was going to do to Hospes—but what had just happened?

"No—_no—_Mistress!" Hermione called. "Mistress, c-come back! _Please, _come back!_"_ She made to get up from the chair, but was shaking so fiercely that she fell to the ground. Bellatrix whirled around and went to her.

"What is it? _What is it?_ You ought to have told me straight away; I'll not have him coming into my house and claiming what is mine—_what is the matter with you?_" she asked, giving Hermione's shoulders a slight shake.

"I—I—" Hermione faltered, shaking her head with wide eyes. "What—"

With an irritated huff, Bellatrix lifted the girl to her feet and sat her down on the couch. "Wait here until I come for you. He'll not touch you again."

She made to leave again, but the girl seized her robes. "_Wait!"_ she cried, and Bellatrix was so startled that she sank back down next to her immediately. Hermione was clutching her, looking up at her with huge, desperate brown eyes. "What—what did you do? What have I just seen?"

Bellatrix frowned. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Hermione tried to explain. "That spell…it's used to view memories…but those things…I don't—I don't think I've ever seen them before…those couldn't p-possibly be _my_—?" Her eyes were tearful now, and she looked terrified. "Why can't I remember? Mistress, wh-what…what's _happening_ to me?"

And then Bellatrix understood, and silently cursed herself for attempting Legilimency on a recently modified mind. She had prodded too deep, and the girl was visibly shaken. A momentary twitch of remorse made her pull the girl into her. "Shh, love." She rubbed her back gently. "It's all right…you've probably just seen some things from the war. Nothing to worry about. Try to forget them." She gave the girl what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Now, to deal with that animal downstairs—"

"No, Mistress. Please." Hermione still clung to her. "I've—I've already threatened him. He knows not to come near me anymore. I—I told him you would sort him out if he did. If he ever tries it again, I'll tell you, I promise…but please…please stay with me," she begged in a whisper, and Bellatrix was almost touched by her blatant plea.

"Very well," she said slowly. "But I mean it. If he pulls anything like that again, you're to come straight to me."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "I will. I promise."

Bellatrix shifted so Hermione could rest her head on her shoulder, and she began to play with the girl's soft brown curls. They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, before Hermione said timidly, "Mistress?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you…would you tell me about my life?"

"What?" Bellatrix asked abruptly. "Whatever for? You already know about your life, silly girl. You've lived it."

"But that's the thing, Mistress…sometimes I feel as though I haven't, really. There are… these gaps, sometimes…" she bit her lip. "You're the only one I trust enough to…to tell it to me properly."

Bellatrix did not know why the girl's implicit faith in her made her chest hurt so much, or why she wished she could tell her absolutely everything, but these questions were far too dangerous, especially with Hospes lurking about.

"Hermione," she said, attempting to affect a stern voice. "I've already told you everything there is to know. You must stop asking me to repeat myself. Just know that you are very fortunate to be here, and much better off than you would be anywhere else."

She could see that she had hurt the girl, and wanted to compensate. "How about I read to you instead?"

Hermione brightened a bit at that suggestion, and nodded with a little smile that Bellatrix returned. She summoned a book from the shelf, one of the girl's favorites, _A History of Magic,_ and began to read aloud—with her own minor alterations, of course.

"_Non-magic people (more commonly known as filthy Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but too stupid to recognize it. On the rare occasion that these worthless creatures managed to catch a real witch or wizard, usually disgusting half-bloods who were too idiotic for the privilege of magic anyway, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm…"_

Although Bellatrix's renditions of her favorite books were not usually very kind, Hermione loved when she read to her anyway. She would not think about the things she had just seen. It was too dangerous and confusing and made her scared and upset. She would stay right here, in the present, with Bellatrix's hand stroking her hair and her warm breath in her ear. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, Bellatrix's soothing voice lulling her off to sleep, where she began to dream of ginger hair and castles painted against a night sky.

The girl had fallen asleep against her chest. Bellatrix kissed her cheek and decided right then and there that Hospes would be out by the end of the week.


	14. A Gracious Hostess

**A/N: Hi all! There's a chance Irene may come my way, and I always lose power/net service during bad weather. So here's something to tide y'all over - just in case! Also, to the person who pointed out the origin of Hospes, you're absolutely right! His entire name was deliberate. Good catch! :) Enjoy! x**

The Lestranges were hosting a garden party—or rather, consenting to the use of their home while Narcissa orchestrated everything. An infestation of doxies had ruled out Malfoy Manor as a possibility, and after a tearful conversation with her sister via the Floo Network, Bellatrix had grudgingly relinquished control over her domain.

Narcissa was flitting about the place, attending to minor details here and there, fretting over the curtains and tablecloths, and changing their colour every few minutes. Rodolphus was actually turning out to be more help than his wife, assisting Lucius with the tables and offering opinions on wine selections and Narcissa's choice of draperies.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, had taken to skulking and brooding about in corners or behind shrubberies, shooting the occasional sarcastic comment about her husband's interest in such _feminine_ affairs, or taking the piss out of Lucius every thirty seconds.

"Would it not be possible for your _charming_ sister to be unhelpful elsewhere?" asked Lucius through gritted teeth.

"Hush, dear; you should be appreciative she's even letting us use the place at all," scolded Narcissa.

Rodolphus stepped in. "Give it a rest, Bella."

"I just don't understand why it has to be so _long_, that's all," she persisted.

"Bella."

"And he wonders why the Dark Lord insults his masculinity! I'm surprised he hasn't fashioned him a special bow by now…"

"_Bella._"

"I mean, you've always been in love with yourself, Narcissa, but down to the bloody _hair?_"

Rodolphus sauntered over to his loquacious wife, picked her up, and swung her over his shoulder in one swift movement. "Enough, Bellatrix. That will do."

He turned to give his in-laws a wave as he carried his wife, shrieking and pounding his back with her fists, back into the house.

"How dare you? Put me down at _once!_ Give me my wand—_give me my wand—_where is it? Let me have it! Damn it, Rodolphus, you stupid, insufferable—"

He tossed her down from his shoulders, but still carried her in his arms like a bride. The gesture surprised her so that she actually shut up for a minute.

"Care to finish that sentence?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bellatrix blinked. "Bastard," she said firmly, and the corner of her mouth twitched. Rodolphus leant in and kissed her, and she responded instantly, melting her mouth against his, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his thick, dark hair…

She didn't pull away, and so Rodolphus placed her back on the ground, withdrawing his lips only to trail them down her jawbone, reaching her neck, and he nibbled and nuzzled it, coaxing an actual giggle from her. Grinning, he repeated the action, his hands tickling her at her waist, until she was clutching him in hysterics.

He lived for these moments, where Bellatrix deigned to receive and return affection. They were as beautiful as they were scarce; they'd had precious few over the last few years, but on occasion they surfaced, making the entire marriage, for him, worthwhile.

He looked up at her, their brown eyes locking intensely, and both raised an eyebrow simultaneously. A tiny smile played about Bella's lips, and Rodolphus saw the ghost of the woman he'd married flicker across her face.

"Well," Bella said slowly, "I suppose a minute couldn't hurt."

Rodolphus smirked. "I'd like to keep it going a bit longer—"

"As if you'd be able to," Bellatrix scoffed, mirroring his grin.

Chuckling, Rodolphus swept her over his shoulder a second time, and gallantly carried her upstairs.

* * *

><p>Hermione was bustling about the garden, assisting the other servants and house-elves with preparations for the gathering. She didn't know where Mistress Bella had gone, but her sister and brother-in-law were supervising, albeit not very efficiently. Madame Narcissa kept having to hush her husband, who was grumbling on about some "irritating woman" Hermione suspected might be her Mistress.<p>

She took a momentary break from him, however, to approach Hermione. Attempting a warm smile, Narcissa asked Hermione if she would be so kind as to search for Bellatrix. More guests would be arriving soon, and it wouldn't do to have the (begrudging) hostess missing from the festivities. Hermione obliged, and Narcissa thanked her before turning to tend to a prematurely drunk Amycus Carrow.

As she entered the manor, Hermione wondered vaguely if Hospes might be attending the party. She hadn't seen him in a few days. Not that she cared to, really, she thought firmly. The kiss had been…well, it had been just that. A kiss. He'd intended to confuse her, to trick her. Mistress Bella had been right to warn her about people like him.

But she found it difficult to pry her thoughts from that kiss, and again she remembered how perfect, how _right_ it had felt…and it'd been with a stranger, no less. Perhaps it was simply the magic of a first kiss…but had it been her first? She couldn't remember if she'd ever kissed another man before, and she felt a prick of feckless irritation—but directed at whom, she wasn't sure. If it had been her first, she was cross with Hospes for tainting it, for robbing her of the comfort that ought to have accompanied it.

But if it hadn't…what if it hadn't been? This was what truly angered her, the fact that she couldn't even remember something that should have been such a precious event in a young girl's life.

Hermione realized she had been traipsing and fuming about the manor with no real sense of direction, and she forgotten what she'd come in for. Just then, a door behind her opened, and she whirled around to see Mistress Bella and Master Rodolphus emerge from their bedroom, holding hands and giggling together. Mistress Bella took her husband's face in her hands and planted kisses all over it while his arms encircled her round the waist, lifting her off her feet. Hermione stood uncomfortably a bit down the corridor, unsure what to do. She had never seen them behave like this before.

Bellatrix saw her out of the corner of her eye—but not before she broke apart from Rodolphus, her hands still buried in his hair, and blessed him with a very tender smile. Upon seeing the girl, she abruptly disentangled herself from her husband's arms. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "What are you doing in here, girl?"

"Madame Narcissa sent for you," Hermione said, blushing at her Mistress and Master's tousled hair and robes. "She said the guests would be arriving soon."

"Ah. Yes, of course." Bellatrix frowned. "We'll go down, then…" she paused. "Come here one moment, dear." Rodolphus started forward, until his wife snapped, "Not you." Rodolphus made an excuse for his sudden movement by running his hands through his hair, then digging them into his robes, rocking back and forth on his heels uncomfortably.

Bellatrix led Hermione back into the bedroom, fumbling around in her dresser drawer and extracting an ornate emerald jewellery box, encrusted with what Hermione supposed to be the Black family crest. She opened it and withdrew a thin gold chain. Dangling from it was a tiny diamond-encrusted snake wrapped around a minute golden elephant. Bella beckoned Hermione closer, and had her sit down on the bench in front of the mirror. Brushing her hair aside, Bellatrix fastened the necklace around her neck. Hermione beamed.

"Thank you, Mistress," she said delightedly.

Bellatrix smiled. "Wear it proudly, love." She patted her head and gave her a peck on the cheek. As she withdrew her hand from Hermione's neck, she brushed against an old scar on the girl's collarbone. Hermione impulsively covered it with her hand. Bellatrix did not notice.

"Well, we'd best go down, then…" Bellatrix looked to Rodolphus, who had been leaning against the doorframe, and he grinned at her. "Would you mind tidying up a bit before you come back down, dear?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she cast a mortified glance at the bed, and Bellatrix cackled. "Not in _here_, silly girl; the parlor's where the mess is. Amycus shattered some of my mother's hideous old vases and made the place disgusting in general." She waved her wand so that Hermione's own came sailing out of the dresser. "Take this; make it easier for yourself."

"Oh," Hermione said sheepishly, catching her wand in midair. "Of course, Mistress."

"Excellent." Bellatrix smiled and turned to leave with Rodolphus. Hermione could have sworn they laced their fingers together again before disappearing.

Hermione turned back and studied her reflection, fingering the charm that hung from her throat. She seldom looked at herself in the mirror, and today, it was only a reminder of her flawed memory. What, after all, was a reflection, if not a comparison of something else seen in the mirror before? And Hermione had nothing to compare this to. She was pretty, she supposed, with brown eyes and curly chestnut-coloured hair, but what did it matter? There were no ghosts in this mirror; she couldn't remember having any other face.

She pulled her collar aside and ran a finger over the scar Bellatrix had touched: a triangle encasing a circle, cut in two by a thin red line. It was familiar; she knew she had seen it before…but where?

What was wrong with her? How long had she been so forgetful? She couldn't even remember that much.

Brushing tears of frustration away from her eyes, she set off for the parlor. As she rounded a corner, she collided—quite literally—with Hospes.

Hermione made an exasperated noise, and attempted to push her way past him, but he stepped with her. "If you'd be so kind as to get out of my way," she muttered, not looking up. She would not make eye contact.

"Hermione—please, if you'd just give me a minute—"

"_Out of my way!"_ she said shrilly, all respect for a guest forgotten. She was trying to shove him, but he caught her wrists. Enraged, she snapped up to meet his eyes then, eyes flashing. "How dare you?" she asked in a deadly voice; some part of her was channeling her Mistress. "How _dare_ you put your hands on me? After everything you've done—everything you've said—how—_dare_—you!" she punctuated each of her words with a blow to his chest, and he staggered backward a bit.

"_Ouch!_ Hermione, please, just _listen_ to me—" Hospes tried, but she refused, and continued her path down the corridor. "No, Hermione; don't go down there! Don't, can't you see, this is it, this is perfect—"

Hermione rounded on him. "_Perfect_? Are you mentally deficient? What's the matter with you? What could possibly be _perfect_ about any of this?"

Hospes's blue eyes were desperate and intense. "This—the timing—you and me, we can leave! We can get out, now, while they're all downstairs—"

"_Leave?_ Leave my Mistress? After everything she's—with _you,_ no less—whatever makes you think that I'd ever consider running away with you, even for a moment?" Hermione asked, utterly confused. The suggestion was so ludicrous that she had to know the reasoning behind it.

Hospes approached her, put a hand on either of her shoulders. "If you'll just trust me." She opened her mouth, but he cut across her. "I know you think we've just met, but you know… some part of you still knows. Think, and try to remember…_remember_ me, Hermione…"

Hermione shivered under the intensity of his gaze, and she wavered a moment before throwing him off. "You'll be lucky if I don't tell her about this," she hissed, and began to make her way down the corridor.

"It's _me!"_ he shouted after her, but she kept walking resolutely away from him. "It's me, Hermione, it's Ron!"

She stopped.

Ron's heart nearly stopped beating. She'd stopped. It had triggered something. He continued, his voice hopeful and pleading. "It's me, Ron Weasley, I've been your best friend for years…and we sort of…well, not really, but it—it was going to happen! It sort of did, almost…a bit! We—but that's not important, not right now at least…Hermione—Hermione please, look at me—?"

Hermione turned around slowly, still looking perplexed. But that was all right, wasn't it? That just meant—she was still coming around to it, that was all—

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know. Please don't ask me anything more."

Ron shook his head too, frantically. "No—no, Hermione, you remember, you _know_ you do—it means something to you, doesn't it?" She was beginning to leave again, and he began shouting after her. "Harry! What about Harry? Harry Potter! He was our best mate, and he and my sister—Ginny—" he swallowed a strangled sob— "And Luna, and Neville—and Dumbledore and McGonagall, and—and Snape? And Seamus and Dean—and Lavender, Parvati—everyone at Hogwarts! Remember—don't you remember, we met on the train—you said I had dirt on my nose—and second year, with the Basilisk, you figured it out before anyone else, you were the cleverest-but you were Petrified, but - but you still helped us! And third year, when you stormed out on a Divination lesson, and you punched that git Malfoy—and the Triwizard Tournament, when the two of us were stuck in that bloody freezing lake for an hour—fifth year—the Ministry—Sirius, and—and that's where you met Bellatrix! And don't you—don't you remember what she did? Everything she's done? She gave you that scar, Hermione; she pinned you to the floor at Malfoy Manor and carved it into your arm and I wanted to stop her, I swear, I _would_ have—"

"_STOP IT!"_ Hermione screamed, tears streaming down her face. She had listened to his fierce soliloquy with an air of frightened bewilderment, but it had all become too much. "I asked you—I _told_ you not to speak to me; y-you m-mustn't try it again; I can't remember, I d-don't know y-you, and I-I'm all right here, and I c-can't d-do this anymore. I can't. I w-_won't_."

She turned and darted off, leaving Ron alone in the corridor, feeling stupid and heartbroken all over again. After a few minutes, he turned, frustrated beyond belief, and took another staircase downstairs.

Alecto Carrow, as drunk as her brother, stumbled out of a closet, giggling madly at the argument she'd just overheard.


	15. Connecting the Dots

**A/N: Irene came and went; no power outage! YES! :D Thanks for all your well-wishes. You're incredibly sweet. I'm perfectly safe and I hope you all are as well. Here's two more chapters for you lovely people. (Well, sort of one and a half.) Enjoy! x**

Hermione locked herself in the parlor, shaking, trying to subdue the flow of tears. Clutching the doorknob for support, she managed, with a few shaky breaths, to quiet herself. It was only then that she could absorb what a truly awful mess the room was. Rubbing her eyes with a sigh, she withdrew her wand and began mending the shattered vases and picture frames. One, she noticed, held a photograph of a young Bellatrix and Rodolphus, clad in Slytherin robes, smiling radiantly together. Rodolphus spun Bellatrix around and dipped her for the camera, kissing her neck while she laughed uninhibitedly.

It was lovely, and it made Hermione happy to think she had seen them like this only a few moments ago…before Hospes—or Ron, it was, now—had interrupted it, and tainted the memory. Again.

He was nothing but trouble, that man. He had no right to bring up all those things…she had foolishly confided in him, a charming stranger, that she had a poor memory, and he had taken advantage of it, telling her lies and stories about made-up people to get her to run away with him.

She didn't dare tell Mistress Bella, for fear of what she might do to him—he didn't deserve that much, not yet. But she hoped he wouldn't be staying much longer.

Banishing all thoughts of him from her mind—or trying to, at least—she continued fixing up the room that Amycus Carrow had done quite a job of trashing. Apart from the shattered vases and frames, there was firewhiskey on the carpet (and the drapes; she didn't know how he'd managed to do that), books strewn about, some pages torn—Hermione took extra time mending these—candles broken and trampled upon, and boxes overturned, their miscellaneous contents scattered on the floor. Some of them were completely foreign to Hermione, and she knelt to pick them up by hand.

There were things printed in Runes, a language which Hermione felt she might have known fluently, once. Small trinkets and tiny mechanisms abounded, but Hermione dared not explore them further—many of her Mistress's possessions were Dark, and could cause irreparable harm to a dilettante such as herself.

She was delighted to see a batch of Chocolate Frog cards. On occasion, Mistress Bella would give her one as a treat, but she rarely got to see them with their original cards. Thumbing through them happily, she recognized several of the names from books she'd read around the manor…Herpo the Foul…Agrippa…Salazar Slytherin…Albus Dumbledore…Rowena Ravenclaw…

Hermione paused. She picked up the card depicting the grey-bearded wizard and studied it more closely.

"_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragons blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbeldore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling._"

The old man gazed up at her with brilliant blue eyes, and winked through half-moon spectacles.

Hadn't Ron—not that she'd been thinking of him (but those _eyes_)— hadn't he mentioned a Dumbledore in his raving rant? He had, hadn't he?

Hermione blinked. Well, this said Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of modern times. It would be a logical choice to pull a name like that out of the air to trick a girl with an unstable memory.

But something wasn't quite right. She _knew_ this man.

And then it hit her like a scarlet red steam engine—she'd seen him before; the evidence was incontrovertible, for it had happened in her own mind, when Mistress Bella had used Legillimency on her. Finally, a memory, something she could trust! This was the silver bearded man she'd seen for the briefest of moments!

But this meant…Ron was telling the truth?

No, she thought. It was a coincidence. Perhaps she'd only ever known the man from this card. Or if he was truly so famous, she undoubtedly would have seen photographs of him all around. This should not be enough to gain her trust. And it wasn't.

She put the last of the items away, and left to attend the party.

Ron was conversing with Rodolphus and Macnair, who were exchanging jokes like "How many Mudbloods does it take to feed a flobberworm?" He hoped he was laughing appreciatively at all the right moments, masking his disgust at the sick humour. In reality, he was furtively searching the crowd for Hermione. He saw Gregory Goyle and his equally dim-looking parents with a couple who looked as though they could have been Crabbe's folks. Ron felt a stab of pity towards them; the bloke had it coming, but he'd seen these expressions mirrored on his own mother and father's faces: it wasn't right for parents to outlive children.

Next to them stood Rita Skeeter, who kept sending coy looks towards Rodolphus, and Dolores Umbridge, who may or may not have been doing the same thing—it was difficult to tell whether her incessant blinking was meant to be flirtatious eyelash-batting or just part of her toadlike demeanor. Cringing at the sight of his two most despised women on the planet, Ron continued looking for his favorite.

Finally, he saw her, serving drinks to Lucius and Narcissa. Could he get to her a third time? He thought, maybe, if he could speak with her once more, he'd get through to her. Just as he was about to make his way over, a low voice said in his ear, "Enjoying the view?"

Startled, he jumped and turned to see Bellatrix smirking behind him. He swore mentally. If she suspected anything else of him, she may kill him right here. "I—I don't know what you mean, madame," he lied.

Bellatrix scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You're not the only one." She inclined her head and Ron followed her gaze to a group of seedy-looking blokes he recognized as Snatchers—Greyback, Scabior, and a few other sons of bitches he wish he could kill with his bare hands for the things they'd thought of—and clearly _still_ thought of, by their leering—doing to Hermione. "I'd deal with them myself," Bellatrix commented, "but Narcissa wants everything to be peachy-perfect…although she doesn't appear to fancy their company either." Sure enough, Narcissa's icy blue eyes kept darting to the men as though she could smell their unpleasantness from the other side of the garden.

Ron shifted awkwardly, unsure of where to carry this conversation. Fortunately, Bellatrix did it for him. "Anyway," she sniffed, "I wished to speak with you regarding your housing situation."

"I'm eternally grateful for your and your husband's hospitality," Ron said quickly.

"Yes, yes, I've heard," Bellatrix snapped. "We've found you a place on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It's not nearly as decrepit as it used to be; they've actually done a decent job fixing it up. Pleasant little house; I'm sure you'll find it suitable. I think it's quite nice." She glared at him, as if challenging him to disagree. "You won't mind moving out by the weekend?"

Ron gaped at her. "The—the weekend?" he spluttered.

"Yes."

"That's—well, that's in—"

"Two days, I'm aware."

He was too shocked to respond, save for a weak nod. Bellatrix flashed him a winning smile. "Brilliant," she said cheerfully, before turning to her husband, leaving Ron stunned in her wake.

After a few minutes, he mustered up the courage to do what he needed to do: it was now or never. He grabbed a drink from the nearest tray and fiddled with it momentarily before surveying the masses once again.

He spotted the perfect man to do his bidding, and approached him swiftly. "Hello, mate," he greeted him with a clap on the shoulder.

The man turned to face Ron with blue eyes and a dazzling smile. "Hello there!"

Ron withdrew a sack of Sickles from his robes—it was one of his last, but this would be worth it—and handed it surreptitiously to the man. "Do a chap a favor and send this drink over to that charming young lady over there."

Gilderoy Lockhart blinked. "The servant, you mean?"

Ron nodded. "That's the one. Lovely, isn't she?"

"Oh, quite," Lockhart agreed enthusiastically. "Pretty girl, yes. I only wondered—?"

"I have my reasons," Ron interjected smoothly, and Lockhart nodded, as if he knew all about mysterious reasons such as these.

"Ah, I know all about reasons," he confirmed, still nodding importantly. "I myself once ran off to South America with a servant girl. She wanted to get married, but I'm a big traveller myself; I thought we'd just be going to have a gander at the rainforests! But she wanted a massive family, you know how women can be, and so I really had no other choice but to leave her there. I mean, with a smile like this, I couldn't exactly let myself get tied down, now, could I?" He flashed one to drive his point home.

Ron blinked. "I suppose not."

"Anyway, after that little adventure with Esmerelda—"

"Spellbinding," Ron interrupted, placing the Sickles more firmly into Lockhart's hand. The bloke was still as much of an idiot as he had been when he'd taught at Hogwarts nearly a decade ago, even if they had managed to repair his memory. "Now, if you wouldn't mind—? Excellent, there's a good man," he said, with another clap on the back as Lockhart ambled away, seeming confused as to how anyone could refuse to hear a tale of his.

"Hospes!" Rodolphus boomed, and Ron jumped around. Rodolphus's arm was slung about his wife's waist as she cackled; they were beginning to get tipsy. "Come over here, lad—what was the joke I was saying before?"

Ron half-engaged himself in the conversation, but was really focused on Lockhart and Hermione. She blushed slightly as he handed her a drink—apparently she still found him good-looking, the tosser—and took it graciously, if not a little uncomfortably. She sipped it daintily as Lockhart began reiterating another of his marvelous tales, and she blinked several times, her eyes becoming distinctly brighter. Triumph bubbled up inside Ron, and he was prepared to approach her when Amycus Carrow re-entered the garden, bowling over several tables and shouting uncouthly. Narcissa looked positively scandalized.

Several servants rushed over to clean the mess, Hermione being one of them, and Amycus grabbed the hem of her robes as she passed, startling her and infuriating Ron. "Ey!" Amycus yelled. "Ain't you—ain't you tha' Mudblood used t' hang 'round Potter 'n 'is friends?"

Mortified, Hermione attempted to free herself from his grasp, stammering, "I—I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Yeah!" Amycus persisted. "You's that Mudblood girl! Gr—what was it—Granger, tha' was it!"

Bellatrix, instantly sober and equally livid, threw Rodolphus's arm off of her and stalked furiously over to Amycus. "Unhand her, scum," she seethed.

Amycus frowned, fixing her with bloodshot eyes. "I 'pologize, Missus, but this girl don't seem t' know who she is. I's only try'n to help 'er…you remember, righ', Bellatrix? You 'member 'er—back a' Malfoy Manor—"

"_Silencio!_" Bellatrix screeched, and Amycus continued his silent slurring like an overgrown fish out of water. She took the girl by the arm and began to lead her inside.

"Mistress, I'm really all right—"

Bellatrix shook her head, steering her further towards the manor. "Come."

Hermione cast one look over her shoulder before she went in, and her eyes met Ron's. And there was something in them that, he was certain, was not there before.


	16. Foiled Again

**A/N: ...and part 2 :) xx**

As Bellatrix toted her along towards the manor, Hermione shot one last look at Ron. In that glance, Hermione tried to convey everything to him; all the the disconnected images fleeting through her head—the bearded man, Dumbledore, of an impeccably kept office with strange-looking instruments and pictures of teeth on the walls, of an enormous, rickety house that looked as though it may collapse at any moment, of a schoolbag that had that name on it—Granger—and a multicoloured emblem with an H in the middle, and again she saw that castle, in daylight this time, and she tried to tell him that something was happening. But Bellatrix had led her away before she could say a word to him.

Bellatrix…what had Amycus Carrow begun to say? About Malfoy Manor? Hadn't—?

Dread settled over Hermione. Ron, too, had mentioned Malfoy Manor…what had happened there? She, Bellatrix…

Her heart felt as though it had been dipped in ice. That was where Ron said Bellatrix had given Hermione that scar.

Involuntarily, she wrenched her arm from Bellatrix's grasp and clutched the forearm where she knew the hideous word was etched.

"What _are_ you doing?" asked Bellatrix, irritated.

Hermione paused; she hadn't meant to be so blatantly disrespectful. But this…this meant something. She had to know. "M-Mistress…" she began cautiously, "What…what happened at Malfoy Manor?"

Bellatrix's eyes flashed dangerously. "What? What do you mean, child?

Hermione gulped. "What was Mr. Carrow saying about Malfoy Manor?"

Dark eyes studied her suspiciously. "Nothing. You needn't worry. Come, let's clean your robes." Bella took her into the nearest washroom and fetched a vial of a glimmering potion. "_Scourgify,_" she muttered, and the grime from Amycus's fingers was wiped from the hem. She dabbed some of the potion on next, and the fabric returned to purest white. "Hmm. No wonder Cissy swears by it." She replaced the vial and turned to look at Hermione, who was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Stop that," Bellatrix chided gently, brushing a curl behind the girl's ear.

Suddenly, Hermione rolled up her left sleeve, brandishing her forearm before her Mistress. "Where did I get this scar?"

Bellatrix's face drained of all color in a trice. "During the war."

"Who gave it to me?"

"I don't know the name."

Their eyes remained locked for several moments more before Bellatrix, frowning, rolled her sleeve back down and said, "Stop asking questions, girl. Come, back outside."

Narcissa met them the moment they returned, and she hastily informed Bella that Amycus had been sent off. The sisters conversed quietly about what a disgrace he had been, and Hermione seized Bellatrix's distraction as an opportunity to dart off.

She grabbed a drink tray so she would look busy, and quickly found him on the far side of the garden. He was alone; good. "May I offer you a drink, sir?"

Ron turned, surprised to see her. "Are—are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"A _drink,_ sir?" she said more firmly; she didn't want him drawing attention with unusual kindness to a servant.

He caught on. "Er—yes, thank you," he said, picking one up swiftly. Now they could begin conversation.

"I'm…remembering things," Hermione said in a low voice, and Ron's blue eyes lit up.

"Really? What—what sort of things?" he asked carefully, not wanting to pressure her. He still felt terrible for their last few encounters.

Hermione's eyes grew distant. "Strange things…castles. Scars. And…Dumbledore, I think."

Ron was nodding emphatically. "Yes—yes, that's right, all of it. The castle—that's Hogwarts; that's where we went to school. And the scar—is it a lightning bolt?"

She was shocked. "How—how did you know that?"

Grinning, Ron explained. "That was Harry's scar. On his forehead. A red lightning bolt."

Hermione did not look as suspicious as she had been. Her eyes were sparkling, and she was almost smiling. "I don't know why it's all coming back to me so suddenly…"

"Well," Ron shuffled his feet. "I sort of…slipped a Memory Enhancement potion into your drink," he confessed sheepishly.

She was taken aback. "You _what?_"

Ron cursed himself. If this put him back at square one _again…_"Please—don't be angry, I just—whatever they've done to you, a Memory Charm or something—it's really powerful. I had to help things along a bit. I knew you wouldn't take it if you knew what it was. I'm sorry. Ordinarily I wouldn't have done, but…given the circumstances…" he trailed off, his eyes pleading.

Hermione nodded slowly, surveying the garden wistfully. "Yes. Given the circumstances." She signed. "I suppose I can't be angry, really…things are beginning to make sense. Mistress Bella won't explain anything to me…but you will," she said, meeting his gaze once more. There was more recognition in them each time they looked at one another.

"And there's loads more to explain," Ron assured her. "I know that, and I will—I'll explain it, all of it. But I can't do it here," he said, lowering his voice further. "Bellatrix knows something's up, I think. She wants me out by the weekend."

Brown eyes flew wide open. "What? So soon? But—you can't! We've only just—you can't leave now!" Hermione exclaimed desperately.

"I know," Ron said, his heart swelling to see her like this, finally beginning to trust him. "I know I can't. That's why—" he checked once more to ensure they were not being overheard. "You have to come with me."

Hermione bit her lip anxiously. "I—I thought you might say that," she confessed. "But…I'm just not sure…"

Ron dared to brush her hand. "Please, Hermione," he said softly. "This isn't you. You've a whole other life to remember, and I'll help you; I'll be there every step of the way. And it won't be perfect, but there are places we could go. I—I can repair your memory, I think. Or I can call in someone more experience, if you'd rather. But I can get you to remember; I know you can. You've already started to. Please," he said again, "This is what's right. You've got to see that, Hermione."

After a moment, she opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a high-pitched cackle from across the garden. They both whirled around, expecting Bellatrix, but it was Alecto Carrow who was clinging to a disgusted Narcissa, a glass of firewhiskey dangerously close to spilling all over her.

"Lucius—do something—" Narcissa looked about to vomit or cry, and Lucius, rolling his eyes, pried Alecto off his wife and escorted her away, closer to where Ron and Hermione were.

Alecto caught sight of the pair, and her reddened eyes widened a bit. "An' _these_ two—! These ones were arguin' upstairs, weren't you? Somethin' about _Harry Potter_ and Hogwarts and _Dumbly-door_…" she let out another raucous cackle. "What did you say your name was again?" she asked, leering at Ron, who stepped backward.

Bellatrix, naturally, had noticed the commotion, and began walking towards them. "What's this?" she asked. "What are you talking about, Alecto?"

"Well you 'eard me!" she slurred. "They was bein' all _remember-y _an' stuff…talkin' about things I hav'nt heard in ages! Come on, laddy, wha's your name?" she asked again.

"Yes," Bellatrix said, turning slowly towards Ron, the glint of madness prominent in her eyes. "Yes…what _is_ your name, boy?"

Rodolphus had joined their gathering. "What's happened?"

His wife hushed him, and Ron used her distraction to whisper in Hermione's ear, "Do you trust me?"

After a brief hesitation, she bit her lip and nodded.

Everything happened so fast after that. Ron seized Hermione, who cried out as he pressed his wand to her throat. "_Nobody move!_" he shouted, backing up, ensuring that he could see all possible enemies.

Nearly everyone had their wands drawn, but all seemed too frightened to fire a spell. Most eyes were darting to Bellatrix, who gripped her wand tightly in her hand, her face lined with fury and—terror?

"Let her go," she hissed. "Release her at once, you _filthy_—"

"Shut up!" Ron roared. Hermione jumped in his arms, and he squeezed her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. He supposed it had worked, for she relaxed slightly against him. "We're leaving," he snarled to the crowd. "Try anything and you'll be sorry."

He kept backing up—just a few more feet and they'd be able to Apparate—

Something cracked against his skull. Ron fell to the ground with a _thud_, and Bellatrix immediately rushed forward to grab Hermione, pressing her to her chest as the girl screamed indecipherably. "Hush, darling, it's all right, I've got you—"

Their attention turned to the man kneeling beside Ron, picking up a stone from beside his head.

"Hello!" Gilderoy Lockhart said cheerily. "I was just practicing some Levitation spells over there…what have I missed?"


	17. Turning Tables

**A/N: Really glad y'all liked Lockhart! Weirdly, he's always been a favourite character of mine, and I tried not to make him very OOC. **

**RememberMeWhen: That last comment almost made me cry, thank you so much! (:**

**The excitement is (supposed to be) kicking in for real now, everyone. Almost. Enjoy! x**

It was dusk by the time Hermione woke. Something icy trickled down her face, and she shivered. Why were her tears so cold?

A voice coaxed her out of unconsciousness, and she blinked blearily to see Bellatrix looking down at her, pressing a cool, damp cloth to her forehead. "There you are," she cooed. "Welcome back, precious."

"What—"

"Shhh, darling. Don't strain yourself. Here, drink this…" she lifted a glass of water to Hermione's lips, and she drank eagerly.

When she'd finished, Hermione sat up straighter in bed, trying to organize her thoughts. Then, the afternoon's events came hurdling back at her, and she cried out, "Where is he?"

"Hush, love. He's been taken care of; he'll not touch you again—"

"Taken care of?" Hermione's heart dropped. She couldn't possibly mean… "What do you mean, taken care of? Where is he?"

Bellatrix was frowning. "Will you calm yourself, girl? He's in the dungeons. He'll be carted off to Azkaban in the morning."

"_Azkaban?_" Hermione shrieked. "But—but _why_?"

"For impersonating a diplomat, trespassing, and nearly abducting you, of course!" Bellatrix hissed. "Or have you forgotten already? He could have killed you!"

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "He wouldn't have done."

This enraged Bellatrix. "He most certainly would have!" she declared heatedly. She was nearly panting now, eyes flashing, and had Hermione not been so distracted by anguish, she would have seen that the situation was becoming treacherous. "The Dark Lord is _furious_ at this betrayal; were he not so disgusted he would come dispose of the filth himself!"

"No!" Hermione cried in pure anguish, and Bellatrix's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Do you know," Bellatrix said in a low voice, "Alecto shared something most interesting today. Do you recall? Hmm? Said she'd overheard a little conversation the two of you'd been having earlier."

Bellatrix leant in closer, and dread washed over Hermione. She knew her terrified look had already given everything away; there was no time to retract.

"According to dear Alecto," Bella continued, "You and _Hospes_ were having a cozy little chat about a few…select topics."

Hermione shook her head. "We were only—"

"Hogwarts?" Bellatrix interrupted, and Hermione blanched. "Oh, rings a bell, I see. How about…Dumbledore?" Again the girl shook her head, dropping her gaze and fidgeting with the duvet. Bellatrix grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet her stare. "And _Harry Potter?_" she screeched. "What of him? Is _that_ name familiar to you?"

She was shaking the girl as she spoke, and Hermione's eyes began to water. "I—"

"Who is he?" Bellatrix demanded shrilly. "Who is the man in the cellar, really? He's refusing to reveal himself, and Alecto can't remember one useful thing, but _oh_, I think you know." She was towering over Hermione now, and something about her imposing stance triggered fierce terror in the girl, perhaps more than was necessary at the moment.

Hermione's lips trembled. "I don't—he didn't say—"

"_Liar!_" Having reached the appropriate level of wrath to trigger such an instinctive response, Bellatrix raised her hand to hit the girl, whose own instincts told her to shield her face and cower away from the dark witch. This made Bellatrix pause, and she reconsidered. Dropping her hand instead to Hermione's shoulder, she had her make eye contact once more. "You must tell me who he is," she said, more calmly.

"I don't know," Hermione whispered. "Honestly, I don't. He never said…" her brown eyes were wide and soft, and Bella could find nothing but truth in their chocolate depths.

With a steadying breath, Bellatrix took a few paces away from the bed, fingering with her wand thoughtfully. _Quickly,_ she thought to herself, _before the nerve's lost._ Turning back to Hermione with a decidedly more controlled stance, she said, "He's revealed things to you that…ought not be revealed. And I can't—we can't have that." She raised her wand, and Hermione instantly drew up her knees, bracing herself for whatever punishment was about to come—but then it dawned on her that that pain might not be Bellatrix's intent.

"It's for your own good," Bellatrix affirmed. "_Obliv_—"

"_No!_" Hermione cried, throwing herself forward, off the bed. "Please, _please,_ not again, don't do it again…"

Bellatrix was stunned. The girl was begging, clinging to her legs like a small child and—what had she said? "Again?" the older witch echoed. "What do you mean, _again?_"

She felt Hermione tense, and she did not respond right away. "What do you know, child?" Bellatrix pressed.

Hermione raised her watery brown eyes to Bellatrix's blazing own. The girl's eyes, so wide and innocent and pure…she was so young…

"I—I know you put a Memory Charm on me," she confessed quietly. "I figured you must have done. Everything was so difficult to remember…"

"But you remember now," Bellatrix said, sounding almost panicked.

The girl bit her lip. "Bits…only bits of things. It's all very disconnected. But I was beginning to remember them before R—Hospes ever came," she hastily clarified. "Just—please, _please_ don't do it again. It was awful, not being able to recall a thing…I don't need to know everything, but…please, just let me have this much. It won't change a thing, I promise." She gazed beseechingly at Bella; again with those big, sad eyes.

Bellatrix considered the girl's plea. Something about her earnest tears or piteously trembling lips convinced her, and she decided to oblige. "All right," she said quietly, running a finger across Hermione's cheek. "But you must swear to me—"

"I swear," Hermione whispered, nodding fervently. "Nothing will change; I swear."

After a few moments, Bella gave a conciliatory nod. "Very well, then."

Hermione scrambled to her feet and threw her arms around Bellatrix's waist. "Thank you, Mistress; oh, _thank you_…"

Bellatrix cradled the girl's head to her chest, running her fingers through soft brown curls. She was doing the right thing. Modifying her memory a second time might have caused damage, anyway. This would be fine. It would be all right.

"I understand why you did it, you know," the girl murmured into her chest. "At least, I think I do."

A noncommittal noise was all Bellatrix could muster. What on earth was she supposed to say to that?

Hermione sighed. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I just…need you to know I'm grateful."

Warmth spread through Bellatrix at the girl's words, and she dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Hush, darling." She patted her back. "Come. Time for bed."

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to protest that she'd already been asleep for hours. If she had, Bellatrix may have sent for a meal instead. They very well might have dined together. They would have spoken further, and Hermione might have obtained at least a bit more of the information she so desperately craved.

But she chose not to do that. Instead, she gave her Mistress a final smile and obediently climbed into bed.

Bellatrix bade her good night and left the room, magically sealing the door behind her. It wasn't that she didn't trust the girl. It was the man in the cellar she was worried about.

Just until tomorrow. Then Hermione would be able to roam the manor as she pleased. She would ensure her life was happier than it had ever been, and there would be no need to pine for her past. Bellatrix would make her happy, just as the girl delighted her so.

Back inside the room, Hermione waited for the sound of Bella's footsteps to disappear before silently approaching the door to try the handle. Bellatrix had locked it. Naturally.

A small, victorious smile played about Hermione's lips as she withdrew something from her robes. She had a weapon of escape that Bellatrix seemed to have forgotten about.

Hermione still had her wand.


	18. Breakout

**A/N: As always, thanks for reviews! We're nearing the beginning of the end here. Again, I apologize in advance for delays in updating. School is getting really hectic! **

**Ally: I'm also obsessed with Adele, and Turning Tables was indeed the inspiration for that chapter title. Not much to do with the plot, but I thought it fit in a manner of speaking. :) **

**Shoutout to Proffessor Prongs for the lovely PM! x **

**Okay, all systems go. **

"Rodolphus?"

"Mmm?"

"Did you suspect anything, ever? With Hos—with that man?"

Rodolphus set down the book he was reading and turned to meet his wife's curious stare. She was sitting upright in bed beside him, arms crossed, clearly troubled. "What do you mean?"

Bellatrix furrowed her brow. "I _mean_, did he ever give any inkling that me might have been…not what he seemed?"

Rodolphus sighed and turned his gaze back to his book. "Darling, if I had, don't you think I would have said something?"

"Yes," Bellatrix conceded. "Yes, I suppose you would have…"

The room was silent for the next few minutes, save for Rodolphus's page-turning, until Bellatrix lunged for the book and threw it across the room. Countering his wife's sudden rage with a mere raised eyebrow, Rodolphus inquired, "Is something the matter?"

"You're always reading," Bellatrix snapped.

"I quite enjoy it."

"But I'm _talking_ to you." She was nearly pouting now.

"You've never been one for pillow talk."

"It isn't—"

"What are you sitting against?"

"A pil—" Bellatrix stopped herself, glaring at her husband, who smirked. "You're…"

"What?" Rodolphus prodded.

"Maddening," she decided. And she kissed him on the cheek.

"You've never had a problem with my reading before," Rodolphus commented as his wife snuggled into his chest.

"I don't," she admitted. "It's usually quite a turn-on."

Rodolphus grinned. "Is it really?"

"Mmhmm." Bellatrix wife sighed deeply, and Rodolphus found himself wondering—almost hoping—that she might fall asleep there against him.

"Do you think she'll be all right?" she asked suddenly.

"Who?"

"The girl." Bellatrix paused. "Hermione."

Shaking off a twinge of annoyance, Rodolphus cleared his throat. "I don't see why she wouldn't be."

Bellatrix bit her lip, and for a moment she almost _looked_ like the girl. "I shouldn't have left her alone," she said, disentangling herself from her husband's arms and the bedsheets.

"Bellatrix." Rodolphus caught her round the waist and pulled her back against him. "Come. She'll be fine."

She cast a longing look at the door, but decided against it, settling back against her husband. "I suppose you're right," she sighed.

With a furtively triumphant smile, Rodolphus summoned his book from the floor and resumed reading; Bellatrix nestled snugly against his chest again. This was…pleasant, he thought. He could get used to this.

Just as he suspected Bellatrix might actually be drifting off to sleep, a bloody house-elf popped into their bedroom, and she bolted upright. "What is it?" the couple asked in irritable unison.

Bowing, the elf squeaked, "Pinckle is not bringing tea to Miss Hermione like Missus Bella asked."

"And why not?" Bellatrix asked coldly, eyes flashing at the mere possibility of punishing the elf.

"Miss Hermione is not being in her room, Missus."

"_What?_" Bellatrix screeched, bolting from the bed and seizing the elf by its filthy dishtowel. "What do you mean, _she's not in her room?_"

"Pinckle is sorry, Missus! Pinckle is going in the room and Miss Hermione is not being there! Pinckle came to tell Missus straight away!" The elf trembled fiercely, almost piteously, but Bellatrix cast a Cruciatus at it anyway.

When the elf had been sufficiently tortured, Bellatrix fled the room, screaming obscenities all the way, and the elf began beating itself over the head with one of Rodolphus's heaviest tomes, scolding itself in high-pitched wails.

Still seated in bed, Rodolphus sighed and rubbed between his eyes. All he'd wanted to do was read.

* * *

><p>In the depths of Lestrange Manor, Hermione shivered, pulling her cloak about her tightly. The cellar was even darker than when Bellatrix had brought her here. Remembering that day only made her shudder more, and she tried to push it to the back of her mind. But seeing the faces of the Lestranges' prisoners…the face of the man she herself had been forced to torture…had they done these things to Ron as well? And where was he, anyway? She'd been walking past dozens of cells, some housing captives that moaned weakly as she passed, some encasing only bones…where was Ron?<p>

At last she found him, in the very last cell, and what looked to be the most heavily guarded: there were at least seven padlocks, each surrounded by a red-hot glow. Taking care not to press her hands against the bars, which she suspected were equally scorching, she leant in and whispered, "Ron."

He did not stir, but she knew it was him in the corner, and so she tried again. "Ron. _Ron!"_

"Hermione?" came the weak response, and her heart lifted, only to sink again once his face came into view, and a slice of moonlight cut across his features. He'd been beaten, by the looks of it, with a blackened eye and bruised lip and gashes across his chest…

"Oh, Ron," Hermione put a hand to her mouth, eyes watering. "What have they _done_ to you?"

"'S nothing," he muttered, blood still dripping from his mouth. "Hermione…are you all right? How did you get out?"

Managing a small smile, Hermione lifted her wand, and Ron's eyes widened at the sight of it. "How did you—?"

"Mis—Bellatrix never took it away from me," Hermione explained, feeling less obligated to call Bellatrix by her designated title after seeing what she'd done to Ron. "She forgot about it, I suppose…and I can get you out of here now." Her face was flushed, excited; and she got to work murmuring incantations under her breath, deftly removing all enchantments from the padlocks, then opening them with a swift _"Alohomora."_

Ron stumbled out at once, amazed. "That was…bloody brilliant," he said, awestruck. "Those were really powerfully protected…really advanced magic…"

Hermione blushed, but smiled broadly. "I—I don't even know where those came from," she admitted.

"Told you you're the brightest witch of our age," Ron said with a lopsided grin that made Hermione's heart flip.

There was a brief pause, before the two reached for one another simultaneously and kissed a second time; gently, for Ron was injured, but passionately nonetheless, Hermione's fingers entangled in his hair, and Ron's strong hands pulling her flush against him.

They broke apart smiling, until Hermione scrunched her face up distastefully, wiping a bit of Ron's blood from her mouth, and then from his. She cast a few healing charms, and the flow of blood ceased. "I can mend the rest later," she whispered, "but we've got to get out of here."

"You're sure, then?" Ron asked, his intense blue eyes searching Hermione's brown globes.

Hermione bit her lip, taking in his bruised and battered form. She nodded. "You're right. I can't—I can't stay here any longer. Bellatrix has been good to me, but…she will understand."

She wouldn't, and they both knew it, but chose not to discuss it at that time.

As if she sensed she was being discussed, the dark witch burst into the cellar, and the two escapees jumped in terror.

"Disillusionment Charm!" Ron hissed, and Hermione unfroze in time to cast it over them before Bellatrix stalked down their row of cells.

Upon reaching Ron's empty chamber, Bellatrix let out an infuriated scream, pulling at her hair wildly. Ron and Hermione were but a few feet away from her, but dared not move an inch.

Bellatrix was still for a moment, panting heavily, debating what to do. They couldn't have gone far. They couldn't possibly…she had sealed all possible methods of exit; there was no way they could have escaped. They were still in the manor.

She was stunned, mostly. She never expected the girl would turn on her like this, so _suddenly_…and she'd been such a convincing little thing, too, less than an hour earlier, throwing herself at her feet and weeping into her chest and promising, _promising_ she'd be good, if only Bellatrix would spare her memory…

"_FOOL!"_ Bellatrix shouted, more at herself than the girl (who jumped at her outburst, concealed just a few feet to her right)—how could she have been so stupid? Hermione was cunning, she'd give her that, but Bellatrix should have anticipated this…the girl was always smart, too smart for her own good; why hadn't she seen that Bellatrix knew what was best for her?

She would go upstairs first, she decided, and make sure the girl's wand was secure. She had left it in—

Bellatrix froze. Her wand. The _wand_. She had never taken it back from her earlier that day. Letting out another frustrated, self-loathing scream, she stamped her foot and took deranged solace in the fact that the man, at least, most certainly did _not_ have his. But the girl, her little girl had deliberately hidden it from her…and she'd been so generous not to snap it in half the moment the war had been won.

The betrayal stung, but she would pay. When Bellatrix got her hands on the girl, she would have to be punished, worse than ever before, and then she would have her memory wiped again. To hell with the risks; she would be kept here whether her mind was functioning or not.

Of course, Bella would prefer to keep her in a stable state of mind. Such a sweet, intelligent girl, and such a good girl, most of the time. Perhaps she could make her see, help her to understand, that Bellatrix could provide her with everything she needed. That she would be happy.

All Bellatrix had to do was find her.


	19. A Battle of Wills

**A/N: So sorry for the longest delay yet! School is worse than it's ever been. You know the drill, AP classes, sports, extracurricular crap. I'm afraid updates will be far between from this point, but there are only a few left. Hang in there with me! x**

Ron and Hermione, concealed under the Disillusionment Charm, kept a good distance behind Bellatrix as she exited the dungeons. Fortunately, the mad witch was distracted by a passing house-elf the moment she set foot back on the first floor, and so the couple had a moment to sneak past her before she sealed the door shut. They almost certainly would have been locked in.

After Bellatrix had stormed away, screeching threateningly as her wand emitted deadly fumes and sparks, Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding all this time, trembling slightly with relief. "Ron?" she whispered. A hand closed over her wrist, and she jumped, but the responding voice calmed her.

"'M right here," he murmured, sounding equally shaken. "What's your plan?"

Hermione was dazed. She hadn't really thought of one. How had she not had a plan? She had a plan for everything…didn't she? It was only logical that she would. She didn't feel right without one, even for things as mundane as the pattern of rooms to sweep. Something of this magnitude would require an even more elaborate one.

"Where's your wand?" she asked Ron, and he scratched his head trying to remember.

"No idea," he said morosely. "Merlin, I hope they haven't snapped it…"

Hermione hoped so, too. She hadn't even thought of that. Why was she so _disorganized_? Of all times to be inconsistent!

"She kept mine in a dresser in her bedroom," Hermione remembered. "I wouldn't be surprised if yours was there, too."

Ron swallowed. "Her bedroom? But—how d'you reckon we—?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, equally frightened at the prospect. "But we've got to try."

* * *

><p>"I shall kill him," Bellatrix declared, the last line in her passionate monologue. She'd been pacing round the foot of her bed for the last ten minutes, relaying the current situation to her husband, book in lap, who watched with amusement and bemusement, suspended in an irritated sort of patience.<p>

"And what of the girl?" he asked wearily, when he was sure she had quite finished.

Bellatrix's nostrils flared. "That remains yet to be seen."

"You'll not kill her too, I suppose?"

"Of course not!" Bellatrix shrieked, scandalized at the very thought. "I'd….it's him, the man; he's the one that must be dealt with. She wouldn't have done any of this if not for him."

Rodolphus muttered some unintelligible rebuttal under his breath. "What?" his wife asked sharply.

"Nothing," he sighed. "So what's your plan?"

Bellatrix paused. "Immediate lockdown. I'd like your assistance in setting up the enchantments." she left the room, still seething.

Rodolphus cast a longing glance at the book in his lap. Only twelve pages to go…

* * *

><p>"Which room is it?" Ron inquired anxiously as he followed Hermione up the grand, carpeted staircase, sliding his concealed hand along the gold-rimmed banister. When he realized his palms were sweating, leaving a glistening trail along the railing, he pulled away.<p>

"Just through here…second one on the right." Hermione rounded a corner, pulling him along by the hand. Despite the gravity of their current situation, Ron couldn't help but marvel at how warm she was.

The grandiose double-doors to the master suite came into view. Hermione and Ron jumped back as Bellatrix startled them yet again, storming right past their concealed forms. Her wild shrieks had tapered to livid mutterings, but she still looked mad as ever.

Gingerly, Ron reached out and caught the door before it shut. He gently tugged Hermione closer to him, preparing to creep inside, when he noticed, too late, that Rodolphus remained in the room.

Ron's breath hitched in his throat, and he felt Hermione start next to him. Rodolphus was easing off his bed, folding a book carefully under his pillow. He headed for the door, and Ron, panicking, withdrew his hand at once, allowing the door to slam unexpectedly shut.

A moment passed in which neither of them dared breathe. Then, Rodolphus opened the door slowly, frowning, dark eyes surveying the apparently empty corridor. The door's erratic motion had not gone unnoticed.

He withdrew his wand from his robes. "_Homenum Revelio,"_

Hermione gasped audibly, but it hardly mattered, for Ron felt the swooping sensation over his stomach, and knew the spell had instantly made Rodolphus aware of at least one concealed human standing directly in front of him. His eyes flashed, wand slashed; Ron and Hermione dove out of the way just in time, the net Rodolphus had conjured catching naught but air.

"Bellatrix!" Rodolphus shouted. "They're up here!"

Heart pummeling his chest, Ron threw open the door to the bedroom, pulling Hermione along with him. Rodolphus whirled around, bewildered, before darting in after them, sealing the door behind him. There was no escaping.

Rodolphus was breathing heavily, wand raised, eyes flickering over every inch of the room. Ron could hear footsteps racing up the stairs, an urgent knock at the door. Hermione was edging closer to the dresser drawer.

"Rodolphus!" Bellatrix screeched from outside the bedroom. Her husband's sealing of the door had foiled her attempt at a dramatic burst-in. "Rodolphus, you idiot, let me in! _Let me in at once!"_

"Sorry, sorry," Rodolphus muttered, his concentration broken, fumbling to retrain his wand in hand and turning to the door. Hermione seized the opportunity to thrust open the drawer, finding an array of wands contained therein. One seemed to inexorably summon her, and she passed it to Ron, who breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, she'd grabbed the right one.

Rodolphus had been struggling with the door too slowly for Bellatrix's liking, it would seem, for she Apparated furiously into the room before he could reopen it. Ron could have sworn the _crack_ was louder than usual. "Where?" she demanded, hair flying in dark tendrils around her head, exacerbating the insanity.

"In here," Rodolphus scanned the room again. "Invisible."

Bellatrix sliced her wand through the air, and Ron felt the effects of the Disillusionment Charm dissipate at once. Hermione trembled, powerless as they both came into view again.

With an enraged scream, Bellatrix lunged forward, but Ron shouted _"Protego!"_ and prevented her from coming any closer. That ought to buy them a few minutes at least…

But he forgot who he was dealing with. Bellatrix removed the shield in a trice, and shouted, "_Incarcerous!"_

Ron ducked, pulling Hermione with him, and the ropes fell uselessly to the floor…but they were wriggling, he noticed, and with a jolt of horror realized that Bellatrix had Transfigured them into snakes. Hermione screamed as the cobras slithered towards Ron, mouths open, fangs bared—

With a bang, Hermione sent them flying against the opposite wall, disintegrating into dust upon collision. Her mind was whirling frantically; the door was blocked, Bellatrix and Rodolphus both sending hexes and jinxes and curses and who knows what sort of Dark magic their way—there was no way out there.

Edging along the wall between Shield Charms—she had neither the time nor, she suspected, the emotional capacity to act on the offensive—her fingers brushed a pane of glass. Daring a look backward, her heart soared to see the enormous stained-glass window above her. They could get out easily…but they were at least two stories high…

_"Imperio!"_ intoned Bellatrix, and the curse hit Hermione during her split second of distraction. _No, no,_ she thought, before being enveloped in a pleasant, warm feeling of absolute peace. How nice it was.

_Stun him,_ commanded a voice in her head, in a sweet sort of way, really. _Stun him, my darling._ All right. It was so lovely here, Hermione didn't see why she shouldn't obey. She turned her wand to the spot she knew she was supposed to. _That's right, love, yes, there's a good girl, _the voice encouraged.

Hermione stopped. She could still see from this dreamlike world, and the man standing before her was speaking, though she heard no sound. Pleading, by the looks of it, his bright blue eyes shining through from another world she supposed she'd once been. Why Stun him? Why, he didn't seem bad at all…

_Do it,_ the voice returned, more urgent. _Go on, dearest, Stun him._

But she really didn't want to, Hermione thought. This seemed like a perfectly good man.

Abruptly, the voice began to scream. _STUN HIM! IMMEDIATELY! DO IT NOW!_

Hermione was vaguely conscious of shaking her head. The voice was hardly being kind at all anymore; she didn't want to listen to it. But it was difficult…so difficult…

From the physical realm, she felt her hand gripping tightly on her wand, trembling fiercely. She was biting her lip, nearly drawing blood; anything to quell the incantation threatening to rise unbidden from her throat. The man was still begging with his beautiful eyes before her. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him at all.

Her wand jerked fiercely, and the room blazed with red light as she broke and shouted, "_STUPEFY!"_


	20. The Great Escape

**A/N: Gyah I'm so sorry. I warned you! The usual, school etc. I also had a death in the family which tied me up for a bit. Don't worry, all's fine now, but I've been so busy that I've been writing snippets of this in Calculus class. Enjoy! x**

Hermione was breathing heavily, her quaking wand hand still pointed towards the collapsed body. She started at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, but was soothed instantly by the sound of the owner's voice.

"Well done," Ron praised, rather shakily. "Brilliant."

Unable to speak, Hermione simply nodded, turning back to Bellatrix's collapsed form. The Stunner had sent her flying backwards into Rodolphus, whose head had cracked sickeningly against the wall. The two had been rendered into a moaning sort of heap on the floor. Ironic, really, thought Hermione wryly, since the force behind the spell had really been Bellatrix's own. It hadn't, however, left her completely unconscious, and time was still of the essence. They could not spare much more than this brief moment of shock.

"Come on," Ron said, taking her by the hand. "We've—we've got to get out—break the window or something..."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes," she managed. "Yes, of course—the window—"

She turned to face it, and Ron moved with her. This was it, the grand moment of escape. She'd risked her life and Ron's for it, and now she wasn't sure if she was ready. Chancing a look backward at Bellatrix and Rodolphus's fallen forms, she bit her lip anxiously. Ron began to rub the back of her hand with his thumb, and she turned to face him again. One look into his crystalline blue eyes and she remembered why she had risked it all. This was a chance worth taking. It was the right choice.

"Ready?" Ron asked quietly. Hermione nodded, raising her wand abruptly. They really didn't have much time.

"_Confringo!"_ They cried in unison, and the window shattered into a million glittering jeweled fragments.

"Let's go!" Ron shouted over the sound of exploding glass.

Hermione froze as he attempted to pull her towards the opening. "Are you mad?" she shrieked. "How are we supposed to—?"

His gaze locked on hers. "Trust me!"

She didn't know what made her do it. It was insane, jumping from a third-story window with this…what was he? What was he now? Was he still a stranger? No, no, he was…

_The love of her life._

The phrase entered her mind unbidden, so suddenly, so lucidly, she knew it must be true. It had always been true. She grabbed his hand with fervent urgency, and he made for the window. Hermione shut her eyes in an attempt to quell the fear frothing up inside her—trust him, trust him; she tried to surround herself in a protective sphere of trust, bracing herself for the fall—

But it never came. Instead, her concentration was snapped by Ron's hoarse yell of, "George!" Hermione's eyes flew open. The name was familiar.

Ron was shouting to a figure hovering on a broom before them, silhouetted against the navy, star-studded sky. "Percy, Neville—Merlin, you've brought the lot—Ernie and—and Angelina?" he sounded shocked. Hermione was, too; she _knew_ this faceless slough of people…but how…?

The one he'd called—what had he called him? George, she thought—broke into a grin, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. Hermione thought she caught a glimpse of ginger hair. "Figured a few familiar faces would be useful, for the lady in particular."

He mimed tipping a hat to Hermione, who gave a nervous "Hello."

Ron laughed—Hermione didn't think she'd ever heard him do it before; it was a wonderful sound—"Have you brought us brooms, or are we supposed to mount the back of yours?"

"Let's leave the innuendo behind us, shall we, brother?" George shook his head piously.

"You never seem to have any problems with it at home," scoffed the woman to his left.

"Excellent point you've got there, darling."

The lovers' quarrel was interrupted by a rather pompous drawl: "I was under the impression our brother requested a method of transportation?"

George cleared his throat. "Right you are, Perce, right you are….Neville?"

A man to his left slouched slightly on his broom. "I thought you'd brought them."

The figure to his left shook his head. "Ah, not to worry, Neville…he thinks we'd come unprepared…here, ye of little faith," said Oliver Wood, tossing a broom their way. Ron caught it swiftly, beaming as he turned to Hermione.

"C'mon, mate!" called another voice. "We've got bets on which of us she'll remember first!"

Ron tensed at what he thought to be a crass jab at Hermione's predicament, but she smiled sweetly and laughed, "Don't. I don't mind." She squinted at the darkened forms in front of her. "I'm sure it won't be either of you!"

The two laughed. "We didn't think it would be! Figured it would be Trelawney, actually—"

"—Or Hagrid—"

"Perhaps Viktor Krum—"

"All right, come off it, Seamus, Dean," Ron snapped harshly, his ears turning pink. Hermione made a mental note to figure out who Viktor Krum was.

"I actually don't think Hermione would remember any of those people very well," chimed in an airy female voice. "Her head was always filled with Nargles when she wasn't studying. She'd most likely remember Bathilda Bagshot before anyone else."

"I—Luna?" asked Ron, flabbergasted. "I'll be damned…" This name struck a chord with Hermione, too, and she was filled with a wonderfully familiar warmth, and the curious knowledge that she was among friends.

At last, Ron offered his hand once more, and she took it without hesitation, her heart swelling with the promise of finally, _finally_ getting out; closure was so near she could taste it. He mounted the broom, and she climbed on after him, beginning to slip her arms round his waist—when someone suddenly caught her arm. Hermione's heart dropped from her chest as a freshly conscious Bellatrix snarled in her face, yanking her towards her.

"Ron!" Hermione screeched. "_Ron!"_

Ron whirled around and lunged at Bellatrix with a roar. She tossed a hex at him, missing him by but an inch; he swerved on the broom and nearly fell.

"Not again, boy!" Bellatrix hissed madly, dragging Hermione backward still.

"Let me go!" Hermione shouted, half-sobbing. "_LET ME GO!"_

There was a collective cry from the brigade hovering out past the window as they too realized what was happening, sending jets of colored light in a bundle towards Hermione's attacker. Bellatrix blocked them with a swift Shield Charm, and Hermione and Ron realized simultaneously that they would not win against her. Her momentary distraction earlier had been a stroke of luck; they would not get it again.

Ron tried to curse his way through the enchantments blocking him from his love as she tried to fight her way back to him, but Bellatrix had Hermione round the waist, her crooked wand directed towards Ron, her chest rising and falling heavily with rage such as she had never felt before.

"Let her go," Ron demanded heatedly.

Bellatrix was too angry to cackle. She'd been consumed with fervent, possessive rage; it flooded through her veins and made her hands twitch tighter about the girl's shaking form. She would not lose her again. She would not. "Get out," she snarled. "Get out, and take your pathetic little friends with you. Never come back." That wouldn't matter, though—no, she'd take the girl somewhere safe, somewhere far away, where they'd never find her again. Rodolphus could come, too, she supposed. If he wished.

Ron was still screaming, and spell after spell was flying at them, but none could penetrate Bellatrix's force field. Hermione was sobbing; they had been so close, it had almost all been over, and now she would never, ever be freed…

"Stop struggling, or I'll kill him," Bellatrix muttered in her ear.

"N-_no!"_ Hermione wailed, but ceased struggling immediately, collapsing into Bellatrix with a fresh wave of sobs. "You c-can't—you can't d-do this—"

"Hush, child, I can and I will. You'll see—it will be all right—" She attempted to stroke Hermione's hair, but the girl shook her off madly.

"_NO!"_ she bellowed again. "Don't—don't touch me! I d-don't want to be here anymore, I w-want to g-go with _him—"_

Bellatrix froze. There it was, a cold, hard declaration of the girl's wishes. She did not want to stay. This man had stolen her loyalty, had caused this betrayal; he had almost stolen _everything_ from her. But he would not get away with it. Seizing the girl tighter still, she backed up closer to her useless husband, still passed out against the wall. Nearly to the door now; they could make it—why was the girl moving again? Hadn't she just made a perfectly clear threat?

Hermione managed to twist her wrist backward enough so her wand hovered above Bellatrix's. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered.

Bellatrix's eyes widened. Surely she wouldn't—"What are you doing, girl?" she asked, alarmed.

Wand hand trembling, Hermione whispered, "_Exuro._"

Bellatrix howled as the jinx burned her wrist, and she released the girl at once, clutching her searing flesh. Hermione bolted to Ron, jumping on the back of the broom at once. Before the dark witch could protest further, they were far out of her reach.

Hermione dared to look back once, back at the woman who had guarded her for the past three years. Bellatrix stood helplessly before her shattered window, not even sending a single spell towards their retreating forms. Interesting, Hermione thought, especially since she very well could have hit them.

Tightening her grip round Ron's waist, she buried her face in his back, breathing a huge sigh of relief and regret and neither of those as the band of heroes sped off into the night, whirring past the twinkling stars and into a new life.

* * *

><p>When Rodolphus woke a quarter of an hour later, his wife was standing stock-still at the window, gazing out into the endless night. Stifling a groan, he made his way painfully over to her. Still she remained motionless. He could guess what had happened.<p>

Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and she let him. After a few minutes, she relaxed ever so slightly into him, and he brushed a hand through her hair. She began to quake, and something wet dripped on his hands. He realized, with sudden alarm, that Bellatrix Lestrange, his wife, his rock, was crying.

He gently turned her round in his arms, embracing her tightly. She buried her head in his chest and shook with sobs, and Rodolphus held Bellatrix for a long, long time.

The moon shone high in the sky, illuminating a pair of new lovers, speeding toward the morning light breaking on the horizon, while behind, intertwined, the elder pair began a slow path to a dawn of their own.


	21. Recovery & Rediscovery

**A/N: **Apologies for the delay, as usual. Enjoy the penultimate chapter. xx

As the sun sank in the seraphic sky, a golden-pink glow was cast throughout the land. It made the seawaters sparkle as they crashed against a rocky cliff. High above, embedded deeply in the rugged crag, there lay a cave, sheltering its inhabitants from the rest of the world.

The others had returned to the village nearby, leaving provisions and promising to return with more. That had been hours ago. Now, only three remained in the cave. And now Kingsley Shacklebolt finally rose from Hermione's sleeping form. Ron looked up at him, his blue eyes shining in the glow cast by the firelight. "Everything all right, then?" he asked.

Kingsley nodded slowly, in that calming way he'd always had. "I believe so. It was a very complex Memory Charm, but I was able to recover everything."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin."

"Now, you understand," continued Kingsley in a measured voice, "that it's quite possible she'll need a few weeks, perhaps even months, to recover. Not everything will be perfectly clear right away. These things take time."

"Of course," Ron nodded. "Yeah, of course."

The men shook hands, and Ron felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude. "Thanks," he said. "For everything."

Kingsley smiled in return. "Don't mention it. And don't hesitate to contact me if there's anything else you need." He paused, seeming unsure if he should speak further. "I have a feeling," he continued slowly, "that this will all be over soon."

"Blimey, I hope so," Ron agreed. Kingsley turned to leave.

"Good luck." And with a _crack_ of Apparition, he had gone.

Ron turned to Hermione's peacefully sleeping figure. They were finally alone. He knelt down by her side, brushing a few strands of hair from her eyes. He hadn't seen her asleep in years. He'd forgotten how beautiful she looked in slumber.

The cave remained silent for some time. Ron did not know how long he sat there, enraptured by Hermione's beauty and his countless memories of the life they'd had together…the life they could have had together…the life they would have together now.

Grief clutched at his chest, fiercely and unexpectedly, as it was wont to do. He missed Harry. He'd never had a friend like him, and he knew he never would again. He missed Ginny, his only sister, who was infinitely more irreplaceable. But most of all, he missed the way things used to be. He found himself longing for the innocence, the naivety of the blissfully blithe days they had all shared, safe in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

But those days were gone, he reminded himself. And the reminder wasn't as forceful as it had been. It was more of an acceptance. Hermione was safe. They were together again. Everything was going to be all right now.

Finally, she stirred, and Ron sat upright, instantly alert. "Hermione?" he whispered.

She mumbled, completely unintelligibly save for one word: "M-Mistress..."

Ron's heart stopped. It hadn't worked…

"N-no….don't—don't hurt him—"

He began to breathe again. "Hermione…it's just a dream. Wake up…"

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and the tears in her eyes caused Ron physical pain. "Ron," she managed hoarsely.

Warmth flooded through him. "Yeah," he said, clasping her hands in his. "Yeah, it's me. You're—you're all right now."

She shook her head and frowned, squinting as if in pain. "Bellatrix…"

"No," Ron said firmly. "She isn't here. She can't hurt you anymore."

Hermione opened and shut her mouth for a few minutes, the onslaught of memories making her dizzy. "I…remember," she said at last.

"Everything?"

She nodded. "Yes…I was—the battle—" her voice broke. "Harry…"

Ron bowed his head. He hated that she had to relive it all again.

"And Ginny…Remus, and Tonks…" Hermione inhaled shakily. "Oh, _Ron…_"

He put an arm around her shoulders, expecting her to burst into tears. But she didn't. Instead, she continued: "And then…_she_ came…and she—she _took_ me!" Her voice grew higher, nearly hysterical for a moment, before she regained composure. "I was…how long was I there, Ron? With her?"

"Three years," he responded stonily.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious." When it became evident that he was, she gave a little gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. "But that's—it's—it's felt like no time at all…" she paused, then met his gaze directly. "She put a Memory Charm on me, didn't she?"

Ron nodded. "A pretty powerful one. Kingsley remedied it just a few hours ago."

"Kingsley?" Hermione perked up. "Is he here? I haven't seen him in…ages, I suppose…"

"No, he left a few hours ago. I reckon we'll be seeing him again, though. Rather soon, I expect."

"Oh," Hermione breathed. "That's good."

Quiet hovered between them for a few moments, before Ron cleared his throat and prodded, "You were talking about Bellatrix?" When she didn't respond immediately, he quickly backtracked, "Unless you'd rather not—I mean, we don't have to—"

"No," Hermione interrupted, smiling sweetly at him. "No, that's all right. I remember…" she gave a little laugh, and Ron looked at her curiously. "I'm sorry, it's just so wonderful to be able to say that again. I _remember_." She laughed again, then blushed under his gaze.

"Don't apologize," Ron said, grinning back at her. "It's wonderful to hear you laugh again."

Hermione squeezed his hand, then continued. " For the first few months…it was horrible. Truly, truly awful. She'd…" she trailed off, biting her lip.

"She'd what?" Ron inquired gently. Hermione shook her head. "What would she do, Hermione?"

"She'd torture me," Hermione whispered. "All the time. Just for a few weeks, but…god, it was terrible. If I thought Malfoy Manor was bad…" she clutched her collarbone instinctively. Ron caught a glimpse of something unfamiliar beneath her collar. Tentatively, he reached out and peeled it slightly to the side, revealing the Deathly Hallows, carved into Hermione's porcelain skin.

Words failed him. He wrapped both arms around Hermione and pulled her body against his, Burying his face in her neck, he placed a gentle kiss on the scarred flesh. She wrapped an arm around his neck; wound a hand in his hair.

"It didn't last," she said quietly, and Ron shut his eyes, feeling the vibrations of her voice course through him. "After a while, she grew bored with it…she'd only drop by every couple of days. To talk. _Girl to girl_." She laughed bitterly. Ron hated the sound. It sounded like Bellatrix.

"At first she'd taunt me, reminding me who was dead and ensuring me I'd never leave the manor alive. But then things became…different." She swallowed. "She started coming round to talk…just to talk. She'd ask how I was. She'd bring me supper. Sometimes she'd even let me dine with her and her husband."

Ron looked up abruptly. "Did he ever—" he began angrily, but Hermione hushed him.

"No, never. I think he may have flirted once, but Bellatrix sorted him out. He hardly acknowledged me."

"Oh," he said, rather sheepishly. "Well…good, then."

Hermione rested against him this time, and he leant back on the cave wall for support. He bent his face towards her sweet-smelling hair and inhaled as she continued her tale.

"I'm not entirely sure why she changed. I suppose she just got used to me. But it was…nice. To have someone care about me, I mean. I hadn't seen anyone in ages…I missed you all so much. But then—" Ron felt tears drip onto his hands, and he embraced her more tightly. She took a shaky breath to steady herself. "But then she became…_nice_, in a way. She started to care and—and when the nightmares would come, she'd—she'd be the one there. She'd stay by my b-bed and hold m-me until I fell back t-to sleep…" her tears continued to fall. "R-Ron, I know—everything she's done, but…you m-must believe—she was g-good to me, so v-very good to me. And I—" she suppressed a sob. "I loved her."

Ron didn't know what to say. "Hermione…"

"Please—_please_ d-don't think I'm—I'm insane or something…she was the only one there and—and she really was l-lovely to me some of the t-time… I n-needed her. I loved her, I really did!" A new wave of sobs shook her, and Ron turned her in his arms, allowing her to bury her face in his chest. He held her tightly, and only spoke when the tremors has subsided.

"Hermione," he said, tilting her chin upward, looking into her swollen—but still so very beautiful—brown eyes. "It's all right. I understand, I do."

She sniffled. "You do?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I mean…she's crazy and all, but—she was always really protective of you when I was there. I could tell she hadn't hurt you in a long time." He paused, trying to decide how to broach his next point. "But you didn't belong there," he continued. "You know you didn't. And so did she, I reckon. That's why she didn't try to curse us off our brooms. You belong…" he trailed off, ears reddening.

"With you," Hermione finished quietly. "I know. I always have, haven't I?"

He mirrored her smile, and they leant in to share what felt like their first kiss all over again. It was their first kiss unencumbered, free of the suffocating pressure of war and deceit and distress, shared between the new reunion of old best friends.

Outside the cave, the sun had set, and the moon shone against the sky sprinkled with stars while glittering ocean waters thudded against the cliff below.


	22. The Dawn

**Five Years Later**

Darkness engulfed the land, broken only by the occasional star peeking from behind a cloud or by the moonlight reflecting off droplets of dew clinging to blades of grass. Streetlamps stood round the perimeter of the village down below, shedding shafts of light across the dampened pavement.

On a grassy hill overlooking this scene, a woman stood, clutching her cloak tightly about herself, adjusting to the temperature as the last of August's warmth faded into the recesses of the night. In one hand, she held a wand, loosely but cautiously. She peered into the folds of darkness, not daring to light her wand, for fear of attracting attention from the wrong sorts.

"_Homenum revelio,"_ she whispered, and waited. Nothing. She was filled with a strange sort of sadness, and turned to leave, when a loud cracking noise caught her attention. She whirled around at once, eyes darting about until a figure emerged, barely discernible from their surroundings, for this woman was equally dark. Hermione's heart leapt at the sight.

"_Lumos,"_ came a harsh whisper, and Hermione squinted in the bright light. "So it is you, then," the husky voice confirmed.

Hermione nodded. "You got my owl, then?"

A coarse laugh broke the air. "Clearly." A pause. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Nor I you," Hermione confessed. "It's…it's good to see you."

Bellatrix made a noncommittal noise in response. Hermione hoped it was one of reciprocation.

"I hear you've married the Weasley boy," Bellatrix said tersely after a few moments of stiff silence. "I am…happy for you."

Hermione gave a little laugh. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Are you happy?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Absolutely. More than ever, I think."

Another pause, then Bellatrix nodded. "Good."

The elephant on the hill had been addressed, for the most part. Still, the uncomfortable lulls in conversation were becoming too difficult to bear. "Shall we—shall we take a walk?" Hermione suggested.

"Merlin, yes, let's," Bellatrix sighed, likewise relieved by the prospect of motion. It would make things easier. The pair set off down the hill.

The silence endured for just a few moments more, then Hermione asked, "How have you been?"

Bellatrix appraised her from the corner of her eye. "Fine. I have been…managing."

"I haven't read about you in the papers as much," Hermione said quietly. "You haven't been—"

"Killing?" Bellatrix interrupted with a laugh. "I've been killing, darling, of that I can assure you." She chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "But I suppose…yes, they have been fewer, and further between. So you wouldn't hear about them."

This pleased Hermione greatly, though she said nothing more of it. "And Rodolphus?"

"He's been killing too, a bit."

"No, I only meant…how is he? How are you both?"

"Oh. He's fine. We're both fine."

Hermione would have liked for Bellatrix to employ a few different adjectives, but waited for the woman to engage in the conversation of her own accord. Eventually, it paid off, for Bellatrix offered, "We've gotten rid of the servants."

Stunned, Hermione asked, "All of them? The house-elves, even?"

Bellatrix laughed. "No, not the house-elves, child; don't be ridiculous. The other girls, though. They've all gone."

Hermione gulped. "You mean…"

"I _mean,_ we've let them go! With a small…dowry of sorts, I suppose. To do as they please. We didn't _murder_ them, for Merlin's sake."

"Oh." Hermione blushed. "Well, I…I had to ask."

"Mmm." Bellatrix was gazing deeply into the night, as though trying to locate something there that she ought to find someplace else. "And you? What have you been up to?"

_Just joining the resistance that's out to destroy you and your cause._ "Nothing much."

Bellatrix scoffed. "Liar."

Hermione was taken aback. "Well, what am I supposed—"

"The papers are becoming less and less biased, love. I'm not the only one who can make headlines." She withdrew an old issue of the _Prophet_ from her robes, brandishing it between them. A picture of Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean, and Hannah Abbott milling about Kingsley Shacklebolt's desk moved in front of them. To the left, a blond head of hair kept reappearing in the frame, and was addressed in the article: _DRACO MALFOY—TURNS TO THE LIGHT?_

"My nephew," Bellatrix commented bitterly. "Never was much for choosing sides. Just like his father. Coward," she spat, and shoved the paper away.

They had walked a good distance from the little village now, and stood at the entrance to a blackened forest. Hermione made to enter, but Bellatrix caught her arm, shaking her head. "Snatchers," she explained. "This'll be a favorite spot of theirs. Come, back the way we came."

Quiet laid conquest for a few steps. Then Hermione said tentatively, "There's… something I'd like to tell you."

"Yes?"

Hermione stopped walking, and Bellatrix hesitantly followed suit. "What is it, girl?"

"I…" Hermione bit her lip, unsure of how to relay this sort of news to this sort of woman. "I'm pregnant," she confessed.

Silence reigned. Again. So Hermione waged war with incessant babble. "I know things are—not ideal at the moment. But nonetheless…I want you to—well, you've been…I'd just—like for you to be a part of it." She gulped. "The whole…life, I mean."

Bellatrix was stunned. The news was shock enough (though she didn't see why; the girl was more than of age, married and clearly fertile), but coupled with this invitation to—to what? To attend a birth ritual? To play grandmother during tea parties and share stories of how she'd frequently tortured and then brainwashed the child's mother? What was this?

"I…" Bellatrix faltered. "I don't know…"

Gently, Hermione took Bellatrix's cold hand and placed it on her slightly swollen abdomen. The warmth of germinating life took Bellatrix by surprise, as did the very distinct kick that struck straight against her hand.

Alarmed, Bellatrix glanced up at Hermione. "It's a bit early for it to be doing that, isn't it?"

Smiling, Hermione shrugged. "She's very responsive."

"She?" Bellatrix whispered, her dark eyes wide.

Hermione blushed. "Yes. It's a girl. I hadn't meant to…not many people know."

"I'll be sure not to mention it next time I drop by the Order for tea," Bellatrix muttered, and Hermione laughed. The baby kicked again, and Bellatrix gaped in awe. "A little girl," she murmured. "You'll have a little girl."

Hermione nodded, trying to discern what Bellatrix was feeling. She was unsuccessful.

In many ways, Bellatrix still thought of Hermione as her little girl, though she had already been a young woman when brought to her. She still saw the wide-eyed, innocent child, devouring books by the fireside, or resting against Bella as she read to her. And now here she was, a vessel bringing new life into the world, something not even she, Bella, had done…and asking for her help?

"I've never done this," Bellatrix confided softly. "I've no idea…I don't think I can help…"

"I've read the books," Hermione dismissed. "And Molly's been through it a few times—"

"That's an understatement," Bella chuckled. "Not to mention I don't think a reunion between Molly Weasley and myself would go over splendidly in the delivery room—"

"So come before then," Hermione pleaded. "I've told them…not everything, but enough to—so they'd spare you, if it came down to that."

Bellatrix withdrew her hand from Hermione's stomach, drawing herself up to full height. "_Spare_ me?" she echoed disgustedly. "I do not require _sparing,_ child—you think that, in battle, they could defeat me?"

"That's not what I'm saying," said Hermione, exasperated. "I only meant…the war is ending, Bellatrix. Things are changing. It's nearly over, and your side isn't going to win this time." She paused, looking into dark orbs beseechingly. "I don't want you to have to go into hiding. You shouldn't have to do that." She bit her lip. "I don't want you to go away."

After a moment's prolongation of her haughty façade, Bellatrix softened. "You're right," she conceded. "Yes. It will end soon. The Dark Lord…" she trailed off. "He underestimates the opposition. This, I think, will be his downfall."

"And you're not…" Hermione paused. "You're…alright with that?"

Bellatrix met her gaze directly, mouth pulled in a taut line. "He has failed. It is impending. I have no choice but to accept it."

Hermione let silence linger before responding, "You're making the right choice."

"I hope so."

They had begun walking again, and were nearly back at the village. A tinge of pink had entered the dawning sky; the sun would soon creep over the horizon.

"Here," Bellatrix withdrew a satchel from her robes and pressed it into Hermione's hand. "Take this."

It was weighted with a significant amount of gold. "Bellatrix…" Hermione gasped. "I couldn't possibly—"

"Don't be ridiculous. We both know that I owe you. Besides, I said I gave the other girls dowries…" Bellatrix shrugged. "You'll need it."

They really did need it. Hermione gave a grateful smile and tucked it into her own robes. "Thank you."

Bellatrix nodded. "You'd best be going," she said quietly, her eyes traveling across the girl's face, trying to memorize the young woman before her, and try to call back the face of her girl before.

"Yes," Hermione agreed softly. "Please…please promise me you'll write. And visit soon. In a few weeks…then it'll all be over, and maybe…maybe we can be…"

"Normal?" Bellatrix suggested with a wry smile.

Hermione's lips mirrored hers. "Something like that."

A final few moments of stillness lingered between them, before Bellatrix practically lunged at Hermione, pulling her into a crushing hug.

Hermione threw her arms around the woman's neck and buried her head into Bellatrix's shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured. "For everything."

Bellatrix gripped her tighter still, feeling the girl's heartbeat and the fainter one that echoed it. "No." she said quietly, into the girl's hair. "Thank you."

When Hermione looked up, her face glistened with tears. "G-goodbye, Bella," she choked out.

"Shhh." Bellatrix hushed, brushing away Hermione's tears. "Don't cry, my girl. It will be all right."

As another sob was wrenched from her lips, Hermione threw herself onto Bellatrix once more, clutching her as if she'd never see her again, for she feared as much. Bellatrix, who share similar fears, quelled them during this moment of comfort. She stroked Hermione's hair and gently rubbed her back, comforting her in a way she'd never done—at least not while Hermione was in the right state of mind.

"All these tears can't be good for the child," Bella whispered, and Hermione pulled away, laughing through her tears.

"You're probably right," she conceded as Bella ebbed the remnant of her tears. Neither wanted to leave, but there was nothing more to say, not at the moment.

"Don't worry," Bellatrix said lowly, her dark eyes conveying how difficult this was for her to say. "I will…stop by. Soon." She cleared her throat before adding, more harshly, "And I want to be there. When it happens, I mean. When you—"

"I know what you mean," Hermione said, beaming. "And I'm glad. I want you to be."

A smile twitched at Bellatrix's lips. "Good."

Hermione did not hug her a third time. Instead, she grasped Bellatrix's hand, warmer now, and Bella squeezed back. "Goodbye, Bellatrix."

"Goodbye."

Hands broke apart, and the two women returned to their respective sides of the night, hearts swelling with the promise of impending reunion.

The midnight sky was resurrected from the outside in, its edges becoming tinged with brilliantly pink dawn. The sun had risen.

**A/N: Finite Incantatem! Thanks so much for bringing me through my first FF story - I loved writing every minute of it, and I owe so much to you! Hopefully I will continue to write more in the future, but probably nothing but one-shots for a while. I'd love to keep some of them in this story-verse. Like I said, I love writing these characters and exploring how they interact in this world. Thanks so much again; keep writing; and you'll definitely see me back again! xxx**


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